


Nervous Wreck

by SlySama



Series: Unfinished Works. [12]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-26
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-05-14 00:35:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,979
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14759279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlySama/pseuds/SlySama
Summary: WHOLE STORY BEING REVISED.





	Nervous Wreck

Chapter 1: Prologue  
________________________________________  
Author note: You cannot always believe in what you see, and yet most do not believe in what you can't see, so prey tell, what do you believe in then?  
Nervous Wreck  
Prologue-  
‘We are gathered here today, on the restored grounds of Hogwarts to bind these two together in life, in love, in magic, on these hallowed grounds. I, Severus Tobias Snape, by the Ministry of Magic of England, or more importantly by Potter himself, will be doing the honours of this…Interesting match.’  
‘Do you, Harry James Potter, take this beautiful bride, to be your loving wife for all eternity, through sickness, health, heartache, through all the trials you shall face, through the birth of your first child and through others that may follow, do you, Harry, take Luna Arissia Lovegood to be your lawful wedded wife?’  
‘I very much do, Sir.’  
‘And do you, Luna Arissia Lovegood, take this man, this Defeater of all Evil, Harry James Potter, to be your loving husband for all eternity, through sickness, through health, and the many trials you shall face hitherto? Do you, Miss Lovegood, take Harry James Potter to be your lawful wedded husband?’  
‘Oh, yes sir.’  
‘Then by this power given to me today, by the trust bestowed in me by these two young adults in love, and the very magic that surrounds us, I do hereby declare Harry James and Luna Arissia Potter.’  
There was a pause.  
‘You may now kiss the bride, Harry.’  
‘Oh!’ laughter followed this statement as both the groom and the bride took their first married kiss before the many members of the crowd. Harry’s face a rose peach that spread below his white collared shirt and black wedding cloak.  
[ ]=[ ]  
‘SEVERUS!’ ‘SEVERUS!’ ‘SEVERUS!’  
‘For the lover of, what Potter, what do you WA…NT?!’ His angered face paused on the last word as he stood before his flaring fireplace, his mouth opened at the sight that greeted him here. ‘What on—’  
‘Sev-e-Sever-us…I…She…He…They…Huu…I was…I was…It’s my fault, it’s all my fault!’ He started to scream, and Severus took a step back from the younger man’s face; it was a young man that looked half crazed, half blind to anything around him but the fireplace in which he screamed at his Ex-Potions Professor—a young man that was half covered in blood from what Severus dark eyes could see through the green flames.  
He tried for a word in edgewise, but his throat seized up as the man kept going, his downright messy head shaking from left to right with every second word out of his trembling mouth. The words, however, that caused Severus throat to seize were the ones that Harry kept repeating;  
“It’s all my fault”  
Chapter I.  
“I can’t believe he’d done that.”  
“Why is it such a surprise? The man’s an idiot.”  
“Shut up Malfoy.”  
“Beg your pardon? I brought the moron back from the brink didn’t I, watch your tone I’ll have you all kicked out.” Humph.  
“I still can’t believe you’re a healer.” Grumble.  
“Well, it’s working in idiot’s favour isn’t it?” There was a tremble as if the body that housed the voice shifted slightly.  
“Do you think we should watch him?”  
“Given what he did? Yes. ‘Less you’d rather we keep him here?”  
“No. None of us want that, doubt he would even given what he’s done. I still don’t quite understand what happened; did Snape mention anything when he brought him here?”  
“…Not much.”  
“Ron, we can’t leave him alone.”  
“I know.”  
[ ]=[ ]  
Shhf, shhf, shhf. ‘Humph’. Shhf, shhf, shhf. ‘Where is it, where is it?’ Where was that blasted book now? He’d been sure he’d had it within his study, but not one look, nor two looks around his entire study revealed the presence of the book he needed to do this job…Well, to research things to complete this job.  
Turning around on the spot—a last look. A stomp back to face his desk and a last look here, once again, revealed no large tome with a red cover.  
‘Ah!’ It came out of his mouth as he swung open the door to check the rest of the house—he needed this book ASAP or his client wouldn’t be very pleased with him—for taking so long; he had another seven days to finish this job, true but , he’d no longer have this client in his list of employers if it took longer.  
‘Marcel! Don’t do that!’  
‘Hi, Uncle Harry.’  
Inhale. Exhale. ‘Hi kiddo, why are you standing in front of my study like that? You almost gave me a heart attack and Uncle Harry doesn’t need one of those right now.’ He was holding both the door and his chest as he waited for the six-year-old to answer him.  
The boy looked very curious.  
Harry blinked.  
‘What’s that?’ Marcel blinked upwards.  
‘What’s what?’ He asked, puzzled.  
‘Uncle Ron was looking for you.’ He pointed to his right and Harry nodded slowly, it was like the question had never been asked.  
‘Can it wait?’ Marcel shrugged. ‘Okay…Um, I need to find a book right now, so it’ll have too, it’s a really important book. Excuse me ‘Cel.’ He slipped by, closing the door to his study with a click behind him, a tap to his “nephew’s” dark head of curls and strode in the direction of his Library. It was, after all, Harry’s home that now comprised of two sets of families and Harry himself—he still, unfortunately wasn’t sure why they had suddenly shown up on his doorstep saying they were coming to live with him; five years ago.  
He was at a loss sometimes.  
He started ransacking his bookcase, the one that spanned to the ceiling and over four walls in the room, coming up with various other books he’d been through recently but not one even resembled the one he looked for now.  
‘Hi Uncle Harry.’  
‘Oh!’ He jumped, only just refraining from moving his hand to his chest once more—he did this so often, he almost frowned every time he did so, he should be used to it as his “nephew’s and nieces” did this so often. ‘Willow, what’s up?’  
‘Daddy wanted you in the kitchen, what are you looking for?’ Her strawberry waves tilted to the right as Harry shifted the books he was holding.  
‘…A book’  
‘What kind of book?’ Her blue eyes shone as they moved from his hands to his face and to the bookshelf to his left. He stepped forward and lowered himself as he shifted them to the shelf and the space that he was sure had to have once belonged to a few picture frames.  
He frowned secondly at this numerous thought and focused his green eyes on the small girl’s. ‘A book this big.’ He held his hands up to judge the approximate size. ‘A deep red covers it, and its spine, back and front are outlined in gold with a golden—’ He paused as Ron’s daughter spun around and heaved a huge book from the coffee table, her small hands dropping it into Harry’s larger ones as he quickly held them out when she stumbled.  
‘This one?’ She asked.  
‘Um…yes…Thank you, Will.’  
Her face scrunched at the nickname, but she nodded, her mouth opening when silence continued as Harry stared sightlessly at the large tome within in his hands, his body crouched on the carpet of the Library.  
‘Aunty ‘Mione says your memory isn’t good anymore, so sometimes you forget where you put things.’  
He blinked at her at this and nodded slowly, emerald eyes finding it hard to focus as he saw flashes of lights suddenly cross his vision.  
Right, memory.  
‘Willow!’  
Harry jerked with the little girl at a warning shriek, at least it sounded this way from her Father as he came into the room, his own blue eyes staring at Harry’s green apprehensively. The raven stood to his feet, book in his hands and moved soundlessly around his friend and out of the room, headed back to his study. He spent most of his time there, in fact, he barely remembered leaving it properly for the last five years.  
Sure, he worked but most of his clients seemed to not need him to come to their homes, as they bought their items to him to un-curse. This admittedly confused him to some degree as he was sure he himself had once left his house on a regular basis, he was after all, an Ancient Runes specialist and Freelance Curse-Breaker.  
‘Harry?’  
Harry ignored the enquiring voice as he set the book down on his messy desk and began to flick to the page he needed. ‘Harry, mate, come eat something? You haven’t eaten anything all day. When Hermione came to wake you up this morning you were already down here, in this study…’ His voice trailed.  
‘I do work, Ron.’  
‘I know…’ He was leaning on the doorframe when Harry deigned to look up at his best friend. He wasn’t sure if it meant anything or if it didn’t but most of the time he felt that something was being kept from him. As if his best friends had moved in with their families, after moving to respectively France and Italy with their significant others, to well, how else could he put it but to babysit him? As if he needed babysitting for some reason.  
His eyes flew shut with a grunt as he clutched at his head, as suddenly his head was assaulted again with the flashes from earlier only this time, accompanied by blurring sounds.  
It wasn’t exactly the first time.  
‘Harry?!’  
He shook the hand off, ‘I’m fine.’ He huffed.  
‘Mate…’  
‘I’m fine, Ron!’ He hadn’t meant to snap, but he sighed as he did, eyes closing as his hand came down to the desktop and yellowed pages of the tome that sat there. ‘I’m coming, I’ll come eat something, just…give me a minute, okay?’ He looked up, green eyes searching the blue for acceptance and defeat.  
‘Hahn. Alright. Gab made dinner, and I mean dinner Harry. You really haven’t eaten anything all day. We only left you in here because we thought you might call Winky or something to fetch you some food…’ He left then, sighing once more deeply.  
[ ]=[ ]  
SMASH  
‘Shit!’  
‘Harry!!!’ Their different voices rang out as he cursed himself for dropping his plate. Food scattered the tiles of the kitchen, intermingled with small and large pieces of porcelain.  
‘It’s okay, just, sit down, I’ll get it.’ This was Hermione’s voice and there were Ron’s hands pressing him into a kitchen chair with the wide-eyed children that surrounded the marbled table top.  
‘I can do it myself.’  
‘It’s fine, we can handle it, just, eat this.’ She handed him another plate of food and a juice of pumpkin, he thought, floated alongside it from Ron’s wand. He sighed, frustrated, he was often frustrated these days—with everyone it seemed.  
‘I can do it myself, I’m not an invalid. Why do you people keep treating me as if I am?’ he crossed his arms and legs beneath the table, pressing his back into the kitchen chair he’d been forced into. His stare annoyed as he kept his eyes resolutely on his friends. ‘This is my house, isn’t it?’ He grouched. ‘I am 29, aren’t I?’ His tone grew angry. ‘I do happen to possess the magic I have possessed my entire life, I do own a wand, don’t I?’ He snapped, withdrawing said wand and placing it above the table for every eye to see. It sparked as he did so, but he ignored this as he went on, ‘Do I look as if I can’t control my own magic for some reason? Does it look like I can’t take care of myself for some reason?’ his eyes narrowed as their eyes avoided his.  
He huffed. ‘Excuse me.’ He stood from his chair with a scrap, eyes still narrowed as he grabbed up his wand, took a gulp of the juice, and flung his arm out toward the mess still to be cleaned on the floor—it was gone within seconds and the plate reparo’d and on the sink in another, then swept from the kitchen toward the fireplace.  
‘Harry!’  
He flung himself into the fireplace as he heard their heavy rushing footfalls on the wooden floorboards. His mouth yelled the words into the grate below his feet that began to burn green as his fingers dripped the Floo power; he was gone before their feet touched the large rug of his Floo Chamber.  
The raven was deposited on another rug, this one dark forest green and the floor beneath a chilling dungeon stone. ‘Potter.’ He jerked up off the floor and brushed himself down of soot before he was soundlessly spelled by an ebony wand pointed at his chest.  
‘Sir.’ He mumbled to his feet.  
‘What do I owe the unfortunate pleasure?’  
‘Ron, Hermione and Gabrielle…I suppose…’ He grumbled, fists clenching.  
The man’s eyebrow rose as he pocketed his wand. ‘Oh?’  
Harry shrugged, ‘and me, I guess…’ He held his arms out, straightened for the man to see that they were shaking. The thing was, that he wasn’t sure why his limbs shook like this, at least not completely; He couldn’t remember but the man before him told him it was spell damage, he hadn’t explained the “how” and he wouldn’t, no matter how many times Harry tried to ask the Professor.  
…He knew of the memory loss as well but once again no one expressed that how either and he couldn’t for the life of him figure out what he couldn’t supposedly remember; because there was something important missing, he knew that, there were holes but since everything seemed to be…relatively the same, he just couldn’t concentrate hard enough.  
‘I see’. His long fingers grabbed at the limbs and held them, turning them slightly this way and then slightly the other way. ‘Did they just start, or have they been this way all day again?’ He shook them when Harry said nothing; mind elsewhere.  
‘Hmm? Oh, not all day.’ He shook his raven head. ‘I dropped a plate.’ He shrugged at the raised eyebrow to this clarification, completely unnecessarily given. ‘That’s why we argued, well, I snapped, and came here. Besides, I don’t have anything, you never give them to me.’ He frowned. ‘Why is that, sir?’  
Snape sighed, fingers tightening harshly around Harry’s quivering wrists. ‘Because I do not trust you to not do something stupid.’ Harry stared, and his arms were jerked. ‘I do not trust you, Harry, to not overdose on them like you did with that dreamless sleep recently.’  
‘…That wasn’t intentional…I was having real bad dreams, I was half asleep.’ They really were horrible dreams. Flashes of coloured lights, rushing sounds, crackling and screams and yells, crashes, searing pain.  
‘Hm, and you wound up in the Infirmary with Madam Pomfrey, here, because nobody wants to see their Saviour in St Mungo’s, and point of fact, none of us trust them, for the next two weeks in a magic induced coma.’ Harry grunted. ‘You will not be getting potions from me. You will come to me like you have been. Now sit down.’ He pushed toward the leather sofa before the fireplace then disappeared for the next two minutes, returning with a large box that he sat down on the coffee table before Harry.  
‘Hold out your arms.’ Harry did so, green eyes staring intensely.  
‘Sir?’  
‘Yes Potter.’  
‘Will you tell me?’ He questioned.  
‘Tell you what, Mister Potter?’  
‘You know…Why?’  
‘Why what, you are going to have to be more specific.’  
Harry sighed, despondently, pressing his back into the soft and yet hardness of the sofa, arms outstretched and clasped between his Ex-Professor’s large hands. ‘Why my arms shake like this?’  
‘I have already told you, Potter, Madam Pomfrey has already told you, it is spell damage.’ His tone was distracted.  
‘But How, Why, do I have spell damage? Why don’t I remember getting hexed?’ His brows drew down when fingers around his own jerked. ‘What aren’t you guys telling me? Why do you all think that I can’t take care of myself? Why must you believe that I can’t handle whatever the truth is? I’m missing, from what I gather, at least five years’ worth of memories, I have holes Professor, yet one would believe if you were my friends, you’d tell me; I know what I’m missing is IMPORTANT. But you all think it’s more important to keep me far away from remembering at all, none of you are even trying to help me remember—if one of the children mutters something even close there’s a shriek echoing around my house.’ The raven frowned hard at the statue-esk way his former Professor had frozen, fingers stuck above Harry’s wrist with opalescent goop.  
‘You have always treated me different, sir, why is it so hard to treat me different now?’ His voice was much quieter, green eyes intense behind his golden frames, though he remembered not when he’d gotten new frames, only that he had them and that they were very precious to him. As his study was—he felt almost at ease within it, unlike the rest of his house, but he did feel a deep all-encompassing guilt when he worked within it.  
It was sort of similar to the large library he had, filled with all those books he felt, most, he had never touched let alone read through with his own eyes, he knew they were very precious to him, so he kept them well kept just as much as his huge library. There was, here, an unease when he occupied the space, but he went there at least three times a day because felt pulled there. He would sit and curl up on the large sofa, feeling lonely and read a book that made no sense to him, his hands reverently touching the pages and stroking the cover, ignorant of anyone else that came and went, staring at him.  
Just as similarly his garden was special; he tended to it, feeling at ease even though he felt it had never been his. His friends never took anything from it and he was thankful for it, thankful for being kept to his own devices as he tended to the patch just outside the kitchen window every weekend.  
…he wouldn’t call the space within the hallway outside his lonely room, special or made him at ease, per sae but it was something, something that he could not stop himself, even though he felt miserable standing in, from standing in before heading to bed, or when he got up in the morning.  
He always stood for a good 10 minutes just staring sightlessly at the blank space of wall. It was also, like when he stared sightlessly at the children now running through his house from time to time, or how he stared at the bookshelf knowing that it had never been empty before, or that space on the mantel that had never been empty either.  
At some point his thoughts had drifted from his questing and so his body jerked when Snape spoke up quietly by his knees, hands still around Harry’s wrists, dark eyes intense as he spoke once more in the same quiet way. ‘I do not find it hard to treat you differently Harry, I fear I treat you worse than your friends, from your perspective and no I will not elaborate that.’ Harry had opened his mouth, brows inwards. ‘I do not think you are ready to be told the truth about your missing memories, not right now, perhaps, one day you will be, but for now, that will do Potter.’ He patted Harry’s knees as he let the wrists go and Harry let them fall back to his lap boneless. He blinked behind his frames as he swallowed a bit thicker than necessary; his heart ached suddenly.  
What did that mean, “treating you worse”?  
‘I apologise Harry, but this is the truth of the matter. You are not ready. You are neither physically nor mentally prepared for that truth, Potter. Now, you should be fine for a few days at the very least, if you continue the practise I showed you.’ He tapped the placid fingers, ignoring Harry’s jerk.  
‘Go back to your friends Harry and apologise to them and their families for your behaviour earlier this evening, I don’t doubt you probably weren’t mindful of little ears. I do understand your frustration…’  
Harry glared dully. ‘NO, you don’t.’  
‘…To a certain extent, it isn’t easy to see you this way and know the truth. I am sure you were not very…you this evening.’  
…Very me? Harry mused as he stepped into the fireplace and travelled through twenty more before he was stepping out of his own and almost tripping over the maroon rug that covered half the only tiled floor in his entire house. He stared at the corner as he flipped it back over and straightened; it wasn’t a very welcoming colour, for a welcome carpet, was it? He abruptly glared at it, and whipping out his wand, changed it to a soft blue.  
‘Harry?’ it was questioning.  
‘Yeah, I’m…home…’ He felt strange saying it, it wasn’t unusual mind you but it didn’t feel right to say those words the way he did, yet he couldn’t stop himself from saying them every time he came back from somewhere, which, admittedly, wasn’t an everyday occurrence, so he supposed it wasn’t a big deal.  
Footsteps paused before the doorframe and he came face to face with Hermione and her wary face.  
‘I’m sorry.’ He said, he had to say it before she did. Her mouth opened and closed before she smiled and nodded.  
‘As are we, Harry. Would you like something to eat or did you eat at Severus’s?’  
‘I’d love something to eat. Are the kids okay?’ He followed her sedately and relaxed as she nodded and began to list off his favourite foods, curious what he would like to eat he supposed, and drinks, there was a list of drinks he proffered too; perhaps she was trying to appease his anger earlier?  
‘Um, yeah, Hermione that’ll be fine and I think I’ll take a Scotch, if that’s alright?’ He pointed to a spot in the sitting room that housed bookcases too. They sat either side of another vacant framed fireplace and where he was pointing was a small marble bench with a decanter and a tumbler; the rich amber liquid inside only half.  
‘Um, I’d like to apologise to the kids…’ She nodded as she slipped into the kitchen and he the sitting room with a deep sigh reverberating through his aching chest. He grunted and pressed a hand to it for a moment.  
[ ]=[ ]  
‘Sniff. Sniff. Sniff.’  
‘Stop snivelling you good for nothing little—  
‘Don’t! No, not anywhere it can be seen, if you wish to punish the brat then do it with something that can’t leave marks or do it where no one is going to see.’ The man’s arm had been taken into the other man’s.  
‘It isn’t like he ever leaves this room.’  
‘Be that as it may, he will not be staying in here forever, will he?’  
‘Humph.’ He jerked away. ‘Are we going to train him to kill his own rotten Father?’ The voice was smirking as both feet moved a little closer, not that they hadn’t already been too close before.  
‘He’s already been here three years, right? He probably doesn’t even remember then, do you, you snivelling little pest?’ A large hand shoved and the small body of his fell backwards on the thin mattress he’d been given upon first coming to this dank, dark place.  
He stayed still in this pushed over position as they looked down at him, three, their faces mere shadows, darkened by the low lighting and mist that covered his tearing eyes.  
‘Hm, the thought isn’t an impossible one, but other plans have been set for him. Now, do what you will just remember my warning. He is not to be marked.’ The tall man’s echoing warning travelled with him as he closed the bars, one following, grating as they were back against the wall; closing him in with the man that wanted to hurt him. As the footsteps left them together, he shivered.  
This wasn’t good.  
He didn’t like this man—rather, he didn’t like any of them, he had no reason too and he certainly had no reason to do anything but despise the man hovering over him again, as he wanted to always strike him; despite always keeping his mouth resolutely shut.  
He may have only been five, but he wasn’t stupid.  
This person screamed dangerous. His body and mind told him to be as pliant as he could be, as obedient as possible when around the ones that screamed dangerous or he’d have to suffer any consequences; though they had been pretty mild. He had no idea why this man hated him so much, or why they had taken him in the first place.  
He screamed and sobbed as quietly as his body was thrown into the wall from the strike it had just received. The leather left a slash in his already tattered shirt (he’d need another one soon) and a burning sting in the flesh of his back, straight across his spine from where the hard brick bit into it; he could feel blood trickle down the thin skin that covered his bones. He bit his lip to stem the pain that throbbed.  
‘Fuck.’ The man growled, crawling across the mattress and invading his personal space. ‘Wish that asshole hadn’t taken our magic!’ He snapped, slamming a fist forwards. ‘Keep your mouth shut about my next words, and actions and I’ll restrain myself as much as I can, so this…’ The blood was shoved into his eyesight on two fingers after a sting. ‘…doesn’t happen again, am I understood?’ confused but mildly relieved to hear this news, he nodded slowly, body trembling, pressed back into the rough wall.  
‘I will bring you books, writing implements, clothes, a proper light and you will work on reading and writing, you’re old enough to learn and you will make sure you read each and every last page and every spell you will memorise, I’ll be quizzing you on it, understood?’ He was gripped and stared at intensely and he nodded quickly as he was shook.  
‘Good.’ The man crawled backwards. ‘Goodnight.’ The man left, looking very pleased with himself as the bars grated back into the wall.  
FLASH.  
‘You belong to us now.’  
‘You will do everything we say.’  
Harry grumbled and twisted in his uncomfortable position in the chair, eyelids fluttering as his brain supplied these words.  
‘And, I say, get up against that wall, you were supposed to do as I asked of you, you little brat! How dare you disobey me!’ A thick black leather whip revealed itself in his blurred peripheral vision. It cracked twice on the lightly carpeted floor of his “room” and swung in an arc before it came down on his back three times.  
Two more cracks and a large hand spinning him around had another three swipes and blood pooling across his chest and his hand as he swung it up to protect the crystal that hung from his neck (They hadn’t bothered to take this, and had in fact deigned to ignore it all together), beneath his thin white shirt. Normally, it would be something else that crisscrossed his body when he disobeyed. He bit his lip and closed his eyes as was lashed more times than he cared to count.  
He had been given a mission that he had refused to complete. Just one chance, one small measly chance and he could use the spells he’d learnt in those big tomes. He could use those spells he’d taught himself, as he was instructed, to blast them all away.  
He had enough power, he knew he was strong, after all, he had worked hard, they knew he had it in him, that’s why they watched him, kept him bound. The older he got the more he taught himself better; he was seven now.  
FLASH, FLASH, FLASH, FLASH, FLASH, FLASH  
The flashes spun across his vision, singeing his retinas with how bright they seemed to flare into the sudden darkness; he could see nothing but these deadly colours, the colours of curses as they came swinging towards him with deadly accuracy over something he could not see.  
The curses weren’t spoken aloud as the words all had been thus far, but he could feel the intent to harm and permanently. They wanted him completely incapacitated. He struggled to make the darkness recede, but the darkness remained, ever familiar as he heard screaming; as he heard himself screaming.  
It was bone-chilling. ‘Please.’ He could hear himself scream, begin to whisper brokenly. ‘Please, no.’ ‘Please…’ He could hear himself sobbing the words as he felt himself fall to his knees in the darkness, clutching something as the colours barely missed his kneeled form. The air stung his skin.  
He could feel himself begin to shudder, he could feel himself scream again in anger and all-encompassing sadness, feel his pulse thump against his chest as if it were trying to escape and heard the crashes, the bangs, as everything was destroyed around him, could hear the men scream themselves as he released his anguish.  
[ ]=[ ]  
Harry screamed, rather,  
He yelled as he sprang up from the armchair he’d apparently fallen asleep in, his tumbler tipped over with naught, but a drop left within on the carpet. His breathing was heavy as his eyes darted around the room, his body trembling from head to toe. His damaged limbs weren’t under control as he clutched at his own body, eyelids flickering on several people skidding into the sitting room, jamming briefly in the doorway to reach him, all screaming his name.  
‘Harry, are you alright?!!’  
He took shaky breaths, trembling he pushed himself up as he slipped down in the armchair upholstery.  
‘Oh dear, is everything alright?’ He blinked at this voice; Molly?  
‘My, that was some scream…’ He blinked again, his eyes trying to focus; Arthur? The Matriarch and Patriarch of the Weasley Clan?  
‘Cub, are you quite alright?’  
Harry sat, breathing heavily ignoring the continued questioning and concerns. It was a bit disconcerting that these people who had not been here before his falling asleep, were now. Why were they? It had been late, hadn’t it, was it morning now? His heart kept thudding against his ribcage with every shaky exhale and inhale; sweat was beaded on his forehead and travelling down below his wrinkling shirt collar.  
He slumped, purposefully this time in the armchair as they all came into the room. Though their footsteps were loud on the floorboards, at least to Harry, they were all wary of him as his eyes travelled around the room without really seeing those actually present. The sounds and his body vibrating were still unmistakably there in the background.  
He clenched an unclenched his hands.  
‘Harry?’ Someone tried to shake him, but he flinched away from it and instead of coming to his feet, he collapsed to the floorboards, his legs folding beneath him—they had become nothing but jelly, it was as if someone had cast the jellylegs jinx.  
‘Ah Harry!’ He flailed as he blindly was helped to his feet, the flashes were back, racing across his eyes. He stumbled around, having trouble with his limbs, trying to make his way through the crowd and out of the room.  
His mind was swirling, and with his vision nothing but colours, his hearing nothing but screams and cries and agony he was almost sure that he had caused his own nerve damage, as he had lashed out at…for something. He had done a lot of damage, and not just to himself.  
He understood that.  
‘Cub?’ The enquiring voice came from close, and arms shook him, trying to get him out of his zombie-like attitude as he stumbled blindly around the room, and into the hallway, his hand pressed to the white-washed walls; all of this had been destroyed…It wasn’t now, obviously, who had fixed it? Had he? The arms did nothing, he kept blindly walking, ignorant as they followed in his wake, anxious and muttering.  
His vision swam completely as he came to the frame of the library, his left-hand clenching around the wood in a death grip to keep him grounded to something—nails scraped on across the paint. His grip tightened and tightened as his right hand clutched at his head filled with flashing and his own words on repeat; ‘Please, please, no, please.’  
‘Should I get Madam Pomfrey or Snape or something?’  
‘Please, no, don’t, please.’ Flashing. He grunted.  
‘I think you should, dear.’ He barely heard this, but it echoed afterwards, as they all crowded around him. He stared sightlessly into the room, unaware he’d spoken the words aloud, and continued as tears slipped down his cheeks. The flashes became more pronounced against the emptiness. He growled low, eyes closing with the agony he felt consume him, punching the air from his lungs.  
His body jerked backwards with it, his one hand on the doorframe the only thing keeping him still standing. What had that, what was that other stuff? The one…with the one…He clutched his head tighter and did his best to try and remember what that one had been about again—it had blurred over. He growled and whimpered this time as hands fell to his shoulders and steered him over to his usual library sofa—words accompanied the strong hands.  
‘Easy Potter, calm yourself.’ A hand landed on Harry’s levering head, his green eyes widening as his eyes seemed to flicker into focus at the familiar voice. The hand shifted to his cheek, cupping it a moment as he told Harry to get a grip, it was followed, before Harry had been completely been manoeuvred to the sofa by a harsh slap that had him stumbling and clutching the arm of the man responsible.  
‘You hit…You hit me.’ His voice came out shocked; because he was. He did not believe that the man would hit him. If he had not come to physically harming Harry during his school career (came close, true, but never done) then he wouldn’t actually hit Harry at any other point in his life, surely? Evidently, he’d been wrong.  
Harry wasn’t the only to be surprised by this display as he heard gasps resonated around him as he pouted in a hurt way, realigning his glasses as they sat now crooked on his nose. He pressed cold tipped fingers to his own cheek.  
‘How very observant of you, Potter, that I did. You are now back to at least some semblance of normalcy and not a zombie?’ Snape sighed as he crossed his arms over his waistcoat, finished pushing Harry down into the softness of the sofa and closed his eyes at Harry’s pouting becoming more pronounced. ‘Do not be such a baby, Harry, I barely touched you.’ His crossed hand, on his bicep waved dismissively as he rolled his eyes.  
‘Barely, you slapped me, it stings. It hurt.’ He blinked back, his eyes stinging with his smarting cheek.  
‘Did it? And does your head perhaps?’ He asked, his tone curious and mockingly sympathetic as he reached slightly out for it.  
Harry’s raven’s birds nest inclined three times for the first enquiry, his fingers still messaging the hurt flesh and stared perplexed as he asked about his own head. ‘What about my head?’ His mind had not yet fully comprehended that they were not the only ones in the room.  
‘You were clutching it, you imbecile. Does it hurt? Did you hit it?’  
Harry frowned, rubbing it. ‘I don’t think I hit it but it does feel a bit like someone knocked a bludger into it.’ He mumbled.  
‘And that would be why you were walking in a state of zombie, supposedly, when I was called here by Ronald?’ Ron made a disgusted noise.  
Harry ignored it with Snape. ‘Probably?’ his body pressed itself into the sofa cushions, pressing his shaking limbs into the material and armrests, trying to quell the damaged nerves before the older man noticed these too. He was surprised Ron hadn’t appeared to mention anything when he’d called the Professor over.  
‘From what I limitedly seem to know, you were asleep and screamed yourself awake, then attempted relocate yourself or simply walk away from it. Did you have a nightmare of some kind?’ The dark eyes flicked to his arms as they twitched before coming back to his paled features and staring intensely into Harry’s eyes.  
‘…Probably…’ He avoided the dark eyes and looked elsewhere.  
‘Potter.’ Snape growled, clearly becoming less patient. ‘I was in fact in the middle of brewing for Poppy and her infirmary, so please, enlighten to me about your condition so I can get back to my job.’ His stance didn’t change, not even as Harry’s shifted and he drew up his legs to rest his arms over them— clutching at his knees seemed to stem the shake a little, besides, he felt uneasy.  
‘I don’t like this room…’ He mumbled. Now, he may just know a bit of the reason why he both couldn’t avoid the room and why he had to come here at least three times a day. Whatever happened, those five years ago, a lot of it happened in this room.  
‘I beg your pardon?’  
He flinched at the way the man spat the words. ‘I don’t like this room very much, sir. Can we go elsewhere?’ He reiterated, head barely coming up from his bent knees to look into Snape’s sallow features.  
‘This room is perfectly fine, you were already halfway in it when I arrived. Why the sudden feeling that you don’t want to be here? From what I hear, Potter you are in here at least three times a day.’  
‘…That doesn’t mean I like this room.’ He shook his head.  
‘Whatever does that mean?’ His patience was clearly becoming less and less as the seconds ticked by. Well, to pull the man away from potion making…Snape’s black eyes sparked as he spoke, and his stance shifted in a way that sent out his annoyance.  
‘It means, Professor, that I do not like this room.’ Harry sighed in frustration, his body shifting to slam his feet down on the floorboards. His eyes roamed the library once more as he stood to them, wobbled slightly and flinched away from the hand that automatically came out to steady him; he stared at Snape.  
Snape stared back.  
‘I haven’t liked this room in years, Professor, not that I’ve ever been all that keen on libraries, but one does get used to them. I come here, because I can’t avoid it, I physically can’t. I’m drawn in, when I tried to avoid it, when I walk passed it and make an attempt to block it out of sight, it makes me want to cry.’ He grit his teeth. ‘And you’ve no idea how frustrated it makes me to know that I don’t know the reason why I would want to avoid something in my house. When I sit in here, in that sofa, in the only place I sit, and take down the only book I ever read from this library that makes no sense to me, I want to hit something because, if I’m completely honest, I want to blame myself for whatever the hell happened in here.’ he took a breath. ‘Because I’m beginning to understand that something huge happened in here.’ He waved his hand around.  
‘And you know it.’ He breathed. ‘Don’t you?’  
Snape closed his eyes for the briefest of seconds trying not to.  
‘Mm. I get the same feelings of guilt, though less pronounced when I’m in my study back there, but I go there because it’s where my work is and somehow it also makes me feel at ease in there.’  
‘Harry…’  
Harry blinked and turned as the word didn’t come from Snape’s opening mouth, it came from Hermione, who was clutching at her breast and looking extremely worried with her tanned features. ‘What do you mean you’re beginning to understand?’ Harry’s eyes stared at her expressionlessly, not hearing the words until well after she had spoken them.  
‘I think I need to go outside.’ He ignored the incredulous looks and the “What’s” that followed this absurd and abrupt statement.  
‘The hell you will be. The air in here is perfectly fresh. Until we know you haven’t damaged yourself, you will not be going anywhere.’ Snape’s tone was clearly annoyed as he grabbed Harry’s bicep.  
‘I think I’m already damaged actually…’ He whispered.  
‘I beg your pardon? You are no such thing, Harry.’ Snape kneeled after shoving him back into the sofa pillows. His potion stained fingers came to lay on Harry’s paled ones, that he was now clenching on his knees. ‘What precisely was in this dream you had, Harry?’ His voice was, perhaps, the gentlest Harry had ever heard it, as far as he could remember of being on civil terms with the man, but it was tinged with concern.  
Harry stared down suspiciously. He hadn’t put much stock in the way Snape addressed him before, but from time to time, instead of the common and familiar Potter, or Mister Potter, it became Harry. The given name didn’t feel like it was anything new, either, but a very old thing. It felt perhaps, he had called the man Severus before his memory losses. ‘Does it even matter? It just a dream, right?’ he questioned.  
‘Spill it, Potter, now.’  
Harry sighed as he recounted. ‘I saw spells.’ He started to whisper. ‘I saw flashes coming at me, whirring around me in darkness. Everything was dark, there was no light, no anything, just the colours of the spells as they zoomed around the darkness. The only things I could hear were screams, cries and the spells as they passed over head. I heard my own screams too. I felt myself lash out at the spell casters, Professor.’  
‘Was this the only time you’ve had dreams like this?’ He questioned.  
Harry shook his head just slightly, eyes avoiding. ‘But it was the first time I got a picture. The first time I realised what was happening. The first time my feelings about this room started to make sense. The first time I got an inclining of my spell damage cause—and I suppose that would be myself as I destroyed everything in anguish and rage.’ He blinked, head tilted slightly, voice still barely above a whisper that Snape, and everyone else, was leaning forwards. ‘How did all this get fixed I wonder?’ He questioned quietly. ‘It was also the first time I saw something completely different, something that didn’t feel like it was mine.’ He huffed a breath, becoming frustrated as his head throbbed.  
‘It was like I saw someone else’s memories, and before you ask, you know I know what that’s like, I haven’t forgotten no matter how many years have passed without him in my head, Professor.’  
‘I was not going too, however, do you remember any specifics?’  
Harry made a noise in his throat, ‘No.’ ‘Do you believe that what I saw, before that, was my own memories sir?’ he breathed. He wasn’t expecting the “Perhaps” that came from the man kneeled before him or the unconscious clenching that had been sporadic before now, of the man’s fingers on his, tightening and causing him to sharply look at them.  
‘What?’ He spat.  
‘I said, Perhaps, Mister Potter.’  
Harry nodded, eyes wider.  
‘Perhaps you were in fact seeing the day you sustained your nerve damage.’ His eyes flicked to different places and somewhere to the left of Harry’s downturned face as Harry kept his eyes locked to the man’s sallow face. His eyes narrowed inch by inch as he heard the whispered words that hadn’t been whispered quite enough, of ‘I hope that was all you saw.’  
Harry’s fingers twitched as it was only this that made him realise that man was using one of his invented spells, that he had said he would not use unless the shakes became extremely bad. He winched that it had come to that and threw his head backwards into the sofa with a frustrated growl escaping his parted lips.  
‘If I could help you with whatever else you saw, the dream you believe is someone else’s memories and not your own, then I would. But you are not sure exactly of what you saw, are you?’  
Harry shook his head.  
There was just so much he didn’t remember and yet, still even saying he may be dreaming about it, they weren’t trying to help him remember. There was just so much that made his mind confused. He knew things were altered, he knew that there were holes in his memories, knew something was wrong and that’s why his personality was somewhat altered.  
Chapter 2.  
He stood before them, in the middle of the room in his thin white shirt that fell to his hips, the chords of his collar partially opened and laying across his chest, his dark green overcoat hanging by his thighs and laying open by his sides, his green-black jeans sitting folded up atop his black trainers with the leather and the green ribbons that made up the laces and his hair brushed back in something relatively manageable; they had placed clips to push his fringe back from his eyes, the eyes that were unmistakable.  
‘Well, you look handsome, don’t cha?’ A hand pressed to his cheek, making his head just barely turning away from it with his eyes closing. He thankfully held back the noise that his throat wanted to make at the contact.  
‘You were going to be sent to some rich guys house as some substitute son or some such, I didn’t ask to many questions; he was giving a fair decent amount for you all the same. But, we’ve seen the errors of our ways, thanks to Mister do whatever the hell he pleases.’ The tall man’s voice was dangerous as his eyes flicked to the one standing behind him.  
‘So today, instead, you will be going to, yes, a new home but this one you will bring down to the ground with those inside, exempting you of course. We need you, son. Then, within the month, you’ll have your big job. The job, that one.’ He pointed to the man behind him. ‘Has been secretly training you up for; you’ll murder him.’ The voice grew more dangerous, quieter as their faces came closer, their breath breezing across his pale features and those dark brown eyes staring intensely into his own gems.  
‘I’ve had enough of this uselessness.’ He growled. He moved the merest inch in the affirmative when the man asked if he understood. He didn’t speak, he never did, letting them believe that perhaps he simply couldn’t even though his spells were immense in power. He thought they might have liked this intensely because it meant no one could catch him with voice recognition on any of his missions. Not that, there were usually people left to do so.  
‘Excellent.’ He whispered, his fingers coming to caress the cheek before moving around his body and whilst pushing the other man away, pushed him toward the door of the refurbished small room. ‘Now, don’t forget your bag.’ He pushed the leather onto his shoulders, making sure it was secure as they left the room and travelled down the corridor—all his things were in this bag.  
He felt reluctant to be permanently leaving the small space—even though he despised the room, it was his and it had progressively gotten better the more he obeyed the man that snuck him out to do jobs for him in secret, that trained him in killing.  
‘Does he have everything necessary?’ The man, another, pointed, and the man responsible for showing them the error of their ways nodded silently to his left.  
‘Fabulous.’ This face lowered to his and stared silently then began to smirk. Normally this smirk would cause him all sorts of warning bells but he knew it wasn’t being aimed at him this time. ‘You’re a good boy, aren’t you?’  
He didn’t move.  
‘Aren’t you?’ ‘You do as your told, don’t you?’ ‘You’re a good boy, aren’t you?’ A hand pressed to his head and pushed until he grunted and nodded under the weight of it. ‘Yes, you are.’ He stood back up. ‘There is a car outside waiting for you, a driver, you are not to step out of the vehicle, is that understood?’ He aimed this last at the “benefactor”, it frustrated him but they did well never to say each other’s names in his company.  
‘Yes Boss. Come on Brat.’ The hand returned to his shoulder blades and pushed until he was moving his trainers down the hallway before one of the men that wanted him to murder hundreds, that wanted him to murder his own “Rotten Father—the one responsible for taking their magic”.  
He was at a loss as to what to do to prevent any such tragedy.  
[[ ]]=[[ ]]  
The car, a black muggle gangster styled vehicle took them through streets unknown and through small market streets until they were stationary, a soft hum under his bottom in the backseat telling him they’d arrived before the large black gates of a large building before he’d looked up. The plaque on the pillar of brick said it was an Orphanage.  
He sighed despondently, nothing but a small puff of air flowing into the backseat; he’d known it had to be something like this. But why did they want him to murder all these innocent people?  
‘Out you get brat and make sure you do what you’re supposed too. You don’t want someone visiting you in the middle of the night disciplining you, do you?’ There was a glint in the man’s eyes that he was sure meant nothing but agony if he disobeyed this time, so he nodded reluctantly, his mind whirling with the information he’d stored from the man’s supplied books. There had to be something, somewhere in ones of those books he’d memorised that had the answer to preventing this. He stepped out of the car, bag on his shoulders, documents in hand.  
Knock  
Knock.  
He waited patiently, foot barely tapping on the step before the large wooden doors with the brass doorknocker that he’d grasped on tiptoe. The place looked well supplied, obviously well maintained and probably in league with quite a few rich families pretending to be “philanthropists and entrepreneurs”. When nothing happened for several minutes and he frowned, simply about to knock on the wood, hefting his pack on his shoulders he saw the curtains shift to the right of his peripheral.  
‘Yes…’ The voice lowered as the head did when no one appeared to be in their sights. ‘A child?’ They sounded surprised and it only became more so as he shifted the papers and held them out for the matron to take. As she shifted through them, hands just barely shaking at the shock, he supposed, of a child coming to their doors by himself and handing over fake papers—he assumed they were anyway considering he’d been kidnapped at a young age, what were they going to be able to get, they couldn’t sneak in and steal his birth records from the Ministry of Magic he’d only heard about, could they?  
Her eyes flicked through the yellowed pages and he began to put his practise into, well, practise as it were. His eyes began to shimmer as she looked over them and took in his body as he made it begin to shake and his nose to sniffle; a tear slipped down his pale face as he started to hiccough.  
‘Oh dear, you poor thing. How awful your guardians must be to send you here? Come, come, in you get child, everything’s alright now. There, there.’ She patted him on the shoulder as she walked him into the large entrance hallway. They paused briefly as someone came into the hall and the two women exchanged words between themselves in hushed voices. He kept the act up, sniffling into his chest and clutching at his coat—his ears well attuned to them and listening to their conversation; he caught voices beyond the door to their right as he listened hard.  
‘How dreadful, to think, for such high society to be dropping him on our doorstep like this, to give the papers himself no less. Despicable.’ The words shifted to accommodate him. ‘You poor dear, I think I’ll go fetch some warm milk and cookies; would that be nice?’ He sniffled as she bent down to his eyelevel and he took in a large racking sob, stocking up his points.  
She was quick with the handkerchief from her coat pocket at this, tutting and brushing it against his moist cheeks and nose. ‘Blow dear.’ She spoke kindly, quietly, keeping in place. He almost had to hold back real tears at this show of sympathetic kindness, as he had never had anyone do this before, at least, not that he could really remember. The only nice thing in his recent memories was being given books to read and writing instruments to learn how to write.  
He blew into the handkerchief pressed to his face and shuddered as a real tear slipped from his gems and dripped into the pink poke-a-dots. ‘I’m Lulu, I’m one of the staff, a matron, I mostly take care of the younger children that reside here.’ She waved a hand toward the doors to their right. ‘It said you were seven now?’ She questioned, the hand sweeping to the papers in the other women’s hands. He nodded quietly, gripping at his coat. She nodded back, eyes moist. ‘Madam Lucia, would it be any trouble if young…Uh…’ She floundered, blinking. His name hadn’t been on the papers.  
He took a breath, ‘…A…’ He supplied quietly.  
‘Oh, alright sweet heart. Would it be any trouble if young, Ay, could stay with the younger boys for a few weeks, just until he settles in of course?’  
‘He may, but I would like to have him examined before I sent him anywhere Matron Willows.  
‘Ah, yes, of course, Mam.’ She smiled once more with a polite nod and aimed words back down at him as she stood to her feet. ‘Well, follow Madam Lucia, she’s head Matron here, I’m sure it won’t take much time at all and you can get to know some of the younger children.’ She patted his shoulder, when he didn’t move toward the other Matron. ‘Go on dear.’ She pushed him toward the elder woman’s direction.  
He was reluctant to be left alone with another woman and then told to “sit there”, “put your bag over there first” and “take your coat and shirt off please”, followed by “sit further forward on the bench please and turn around please.” He understood that they were trying to give him an examination, he’d been given one once before, when he’d gotten ill in his kidnapper’s care but he didn’t want anyone to see his scars and he had no idea what his reactions would be to muggle medicine as he wasn’t a muggle.  
When he further refused to acknowledge her requests, she prodded him with her finger, grabbing him and positioning him herself on the bench and then simply stuck something against his covered chest, his back, and stuck something further cold and metal into his mouth where he almost choked. Something stranger was shoved into his ears and a torch was shone into his face that he flinched because his eyes were sensitive—as he never left the room unless it was under the cover of moonlight. His eyes weren’t used to the brightness that was outside day-time. The sun had almost blinded him earlier.  
When she thankfully proclaimed him fit, where he almost sighed in relief aloud, she walked him back to the Head Matron, who then walked him to the older dormitory, which was on the second level, to place his backpack and then walked him back downstairs to the younger kid’s room. Apparently, the older children had the backyard and the common room respectively.  
He stared from just within the doorway at all the children within; one of them must have been the one he’d seen poking through the curtains earlier. He sat in a corner as the Matron left the room, closing the large doors behind her as her eyes scanned the miscreants. He started to doodle random patterns into the carpet by his thigh with his fingers.  
Steadily they began to resemble runes that had been shoved to the back of his mind. He stared at them momentarily and jumped when a child introduced himself—his fingers sparking on the carpet and igniting the runes. They didn’t seem like bad children. He didn’t want to hurt them.  
‘My name is Oz.’ He blinked at the small child. ‘What’s yours?’ The boy had chocolate brown curls, alabaster skin, amber jewelled eyes and seemed to be wearing blue overalls, a white collared shirt with silver claps; all looking to big for his small stature.  
It was a bit unnerving to see the boy smiling inanely. What did they feed this kid? He made sure that the runes weren’t alight before shifting his hands and turning to properly face the smaller boy. ‘It’s A.’  
‘Ay?’  
He nodded, his white wavy strands bouncing.  
[ ]=[ ]  
Harry made pained noise as he froze in the kitchen, his hands clasping the plate of snacks he’d just nicked before dinner from his cupboard. His eyes were closed, screwed up tight as he took steading breaths.  
‘Uncle Harry?’  
He jumped, jerking.  
‘Marcella.’  
She nodded.  
‘Everything alright?’  
‘I don’t know.’ She shrugged.  
He frowned.  
‘You were frozen.’ She pointed.  
Oh. ‘Oh.’ He licked his lips. It had happened again. It was the third time it had happened now, second time it had happened whilst he was awake. ‘I’m alright. I’ll give you a snack before dinner, if you say nothing to mummy?’  
She blinked, then smiled cheekily, holding out her hand. ‘Okay!’  
He laughed. This wouldn’t have worked with her twin brother Marcel.  
[ ]=[ ]  
This could be bad.  
Very bad.  
‘Hey pretty boy, where’s mummy and daddy? They abandon you, did they?’  
He kept his mouth resolutely shut, the truth was that they hadn’t of course. He’d been kidnapped, snatched away from his own parents but for this boy, who was in an orphanage, for him to say this to another child was just plan ridiculous; you would think it would be something of a sore spot, considering he didn’t have his own parents?  
‘Why don’t you go beg them to take you back? You don’t belong here, pretty little aristocratic puppy.’  
He clenched his mouth tighter shut. He had made up his mind. He was not going to hurt any of these children, or the Matron’s that cared for them in this all-muggle orphanage; he had realised why the men wanted him to do this. They didn’t like anyone that didn’t have magic; despite them no longer being able to use it themselves.  
These children on the other hand, they were apparently bullies here at the orphanage. They were in the belief that they ruled the institute below the Matron’s. They were the oldest kids, but they did come up with some really rather poor excuses for insults; it was simply the way they executed them. They even stole precious momentous from other orphans if they got on the wrong side of the bullies. Right now, he was sticking up for someone, taking the brunt of the abuse for the hundredth time because he didn’t believe there was even an ounce of a reason for them to be picking on a five-year-old.  
He wasn’t sure why he was helping but maybe it was because the five-year-old had stuck to him like glue when he’d arrived. Maybe it was because there was something different about the small boy. Maybe it was because he’d taken a liking to him because he was well-read as much as A was, even being an orphan and only five.  
This is so bad.  
This is so very bad.  
Settle down, settle down.  
He could feel his magic prickling his fingertips. He was starting to grow weary of the bullying but just hadn’t figured out a way to protect this place yet and not get himself killed in the process of saving it. Simply because he hadn’t completed his mission yet, he had had someone come, late into the night, and punish him. The matron’s thought he was fighting. He winced as he was pushed, and his back protested the treatment of slamming the wall.  
His fists clenched as the five-year-old was pushed by one of the other boys behind the one spouting insults into his face. The boy has lackey’s.  
[ ]=[ ]  
Nothing happened. ‘Nothing happened.’  
Harry seemed to blank for the next month or so, his brain focusing on the job he had to complete in his inbox, rather than on the oddness that wasn’t his. He was concentrating, like he always seemed to on the thing in his immediate vicinity rather than on something that everyone refused to help him remember. He kept his nightmares to himself, rather, what he believed to be his memories, that, whatever these other ones were, whether they were dreams or someone else’s memories, he kept those to himself too.  
He put up with his friends telling him what to do and them taking his alcohol from view and stashing it away when he drank more than normal after a nightmare—at least he had one bottle in the study they didn’t know was there. He put up with Snape constantly hissing at his heels every second day telling him to get a hold of himself and take his medicinal herbs and to wear his gloves when he did curse-work and yada-yada-yada, pestering him about telling him the nightmares—that Harry hadn’t told him he was having.  
He sighed as he scrubbed at the side of his face, left hand coming up and tipping the rim of his glass tumbler filled with three pieces of ice and amber liquor to his parted lips.  
He kept his eyes focused on the large tome that lay before him opened on the old oak desk, the yellowed pages faded scribbles of runes and their descriptions. From time to time he could hear the children running around the hallways and shifting the tv from low to high volume as they flicked relentlessly through the channels; it was driving him mad. No one had obviously cared to disengage the remote from the child, until he realised that it was now on the Muggle news and had been for the last three minutes he’d spaced out staring at the same runic symbol.  
‘Such crimes we are having lately; first all those victims at the markets on the Thames then the Jewellers of Oswald Brass with those thieves in the middle of the night and that poor broker behind the counter.  
Scotland Yard are still trying to find the Diamond worth 100, 000 Quid so if anyone knows anything about this we encourage you to contact them at the station or this number we are putting on the screen now.  
We’re sure those of you that follow the news heard about that gas explosion down in the Underground and the mass killings in Green Park last Thursday—For the families of the victims there is the number on the bottom of the screen for counsellors.  
Number #1 this week unfortunately is the continued investigation of why the structurally sound institute of Blithers Home came crashing down and killing almost 400 children and 100 odd staff carers.’  
Harry’s head shifted a little to the right, his ears fine tuning into the tv and nothing else—his glass even tipped away from his lips though he was still mindful not to spill any on the ancient text.  
‘We are however happy to report, from the crime scene today, our permissions given to us from Scotland Yard, that 10 children have come out safely from the ruins with no more than scrapes, bruises and some future PTS; that’s Post Traumatic Stress. As we speak the children are being relocated to another orphanage—Ah—  
Harry flung himself from the chair—it toppled as he skidded from the room, slamming his study door behind him with one hand and sliding across the floorboards to the sitting room where he was sure the women’s voice had come from—it had been muffled at the end there.  
He wanted to hear this.  
He stood, breathing heavily, leaning on the doorframe of the media room and peering inside to notice that one of the children had confiscated the remote from their parent and had turned the volume right down and was about to turn the channel entirely to another. He ran across the room, snatching the remote and turning it back up, ignorant of the startled voices.  
‘If anyone would like to help these children—as they are without parents, they do need families. Along with their names here are some pictures.’ The reporter looked uncomfortable as the pictures quickly overrode her features; her hands below the screen seemed to be flailing wildly; perhaps she was not allowed?  
Harry stared at the pictures. He wasn’t sure why it mattered so much but after hearing the lady’s ramblings about recent events, it didn’t seem likely that it was just some coincidence that he had that dream a month ago. The ruin behind the pictures, behind the reporter, this incident wasn’t muggle by nature.  
He scrambled up the sofa when little hands gripped the remote within his own.  
‘Harry what has gotten into you, can you please give Lilra the remote.’ She sounded annoyed and a bit angry as he avoided her hands as well, his head tilting to see around her body when she obstructed the view of the television set—he didn’t actually remember installing one of these.  
His eyes scanned the screen, widening a fraction behind his golden frames. ‘Scamander.’ He whispered.  
‘What?’  
He pointed around her. ‘Scamander. I know we don’t get the Daily Prophet, but by chance I do remember reading an article about the demise of the Great Newt Scamander’s grandson and his wife, ah, and their eldest son in some freak accident that was said to not be an accident. They had a younger son, didn’t they? He went to his maternal grandparents, didn’t he?... He wasn’t in there.’  
Hermione nodded slowly, turning partially to see the pictures being displayed across the large screen. ‘They weren’t young though and passed away not long after the accident unfortunately. I believe he had no where else to go, I didn’t realise that meant he’d be taken to an Orphanage. That’s horrible, the poor boy.’ She frowned.  
‘No, Hermione, not any old orphanage. A muggle orphanage. Magical children don’t just go to Muggle Orphanages or houses or whatever, if they are already known as magical, are they? That doesn’t just happen, right?’ He narrowed his eyes as the picture finally shifted from the milky skinned, chocolate haired, amber eyed tot to an older child that had that one clinging to him. The clothes were all bloodied under the youngers hands, the jewelled eyes were hard but dulled as his cheeks were tainted pink and his arms and forehead covered in bandages. His hair was limp and dirtied but was a white and his skin a tanned smooth porcelain.  
Harry’s eyes refused to blink and then he was clutching at his head, the remote dropping into his lap as he clung to his dark strands of raven. ‘Hn!!’  
‘Harry?!!’  
There was crying, pain filled crying—it came from the front yard. His feet were carrying him toward the sounds and the mumbles of comfort that he could hear came from a wispy womanly voice.  
He knew that voice.  
His eyes scanned the scenery and alighted on the scene; two sets of silvery white were blowing in the mid-morning breeze. One was pale the other tanned and covered in dirt—the young one had cuts on his face and arms, as if something had flung out its fury. His eyes scanned the scenery again and started to bend as he heard hissing from the back of her garden hedges.  
‘Harry?!!’ A hand shook his shoulder as he scrunched his eyes, the pain clear and evident on his features. His fingers clutched at raven strands, making his mop wilder and messier.  
FLASH, FLASH, FLASH! ‘Please, please, I beg you, please.’ He sobbed. There was a maniacal laugh as his limbs jerked and heard the screams from way out, from far down the street. The crying began to haunt him as he fell forward, his limbs unable to support his weight, his magic drained. He pushed his face into the bloodied mess before him, into the silvery strands that lay by his fingertips, soaking up the dreadful colour.  
‘It’s my fault. It’s all my fault.’  
‘IT’S ALL MY FAULT!’ He gasped, sitting up and flinging his legs back to the floor at not just Hermione that hovered over him, but Ron and Snape. Apparently Lilra had been taken elsewhere as he’d thrashed on the sofa. ‘It’s my fault.’ He whispered brokenly, his eyes locked to Snape’s; they had started to look pained.  
Harry flung himself onto his feet, avoiding the hands that tried to automatically steady him and rushed from the room, his eyes taking in every single uncovered space in his home. ‘Where are they?’ He uttered.  
He ignored the shouts that followed him to the stairs and followed him up them. He ignored the voice that tried to get him to stop and think, to calm down and take a seat as he began to ransack his bedroom, his eyes unfocused. Flashes of images zoomed across his eyes as he threw open his bedside drawers and upturned them on the light blue duvet—the contents dropped heavily to the silk.  
‘Potter stop.’  
His fingers froze on the rough wood as his eyes scanned the scattered items: An empty picture frame with the wood cracked on one side.  
A half empty bottle of lubricant that he flushed a bit at; he hadn’t even had the thought for years. Was that normal? He frowned momentarily.  
There were mismatched buttons that looked as if they had once been attached to something.  
Quidditch through the ages and the Quibbler— He frowned again, an ache starting in his eye and his chest. A play wizard magazine that he once again flushed at, his hands twitching around the empty drawer.  
His eyelids flickered twice, the skin at the corners scrunching in confusion and pain; there were three more items on the duvet, three times that really didn’t make any sense and one that made the Potions Master (as he turned his green eyes this way) to grip the doorframe on either side and a disgruntled noise escaping before he could cover it with a hasty hand.  
It was a baby naming book, a parenting book and a soother. How had he not opened this draw in the last five years? This bothered him greatly and he once again turned to lock eyes with the older man before stamping to his wardrobe and throwing it open, hands clutching the varnished wood.  
‘Potter, don’t.’  
He scanned the contents quickly. Clothes, shoes, more clothes. He ignored that he could simply use his magic and stood on tiptoe to see the top most shelf, his hands followed his eyes and roved the wood; his fingertips hit something. Something that wasn’t physically there; he growled.  
‘Potter, please think about this.’ The man’s surprisingly gruff voice was tinged with desperation, Harry felt, but his body didn’t move from the doorframe as Harry grabbed at the invisible chest. It was surprisingly heavy and made a small groan for the effort.  
‘Harry, please, think about this.’ He jerked at the soft plea from his Ex-Professor, hands freezing over where he felt the opening might have been had it been visible to the human eye. He took a deep breath, eyes closing and moved, wand coming out of his pocket and pointing at the unseen chest.  
A glamour. A powerful one however. He had felt something odd with his wardrobe, but he had never thought more about it, not feeling it was dangerous. He definitely hadn’t thought that he might have hidden important items that pertained to his missing memories—certainly not in his own room. He shifted on his knees and began to chant below his breath every revealing charm in knew, even the obscure ones.  
The raven had to wonder briefly as he did this where his friends had gotten to. Why was it that only Snape had followed him up those stairs to his bedroom door? Why was he the only one trying to, no, he wasn’t trying to stop him was he? He was simply…pleading that Harry not open the chest. What was in this, that was honestly so bad?  
He shook himself, focusing on chanting as the box started to appear.  
‘You idiot.’ Harry’s hands clenched as he heard these whispered words, undoubtedly aimed at himself, then again, it could very well be aimed at the man himself considering he was now fiddling with his own ebony wand as if he was debating doing a spell but couldn’t find it in himself to do it.  
The polished chest, black oak finally shimmered into being before him. Shaking hands fiddled with the large brass locks that adorned the outer gold gilded edges, his head turned in Snape’s direction. He stared sightlessly, but determinedly. Who else would have the key?  
Snape closed his eyes and sighed defeatedly. ‘I did warn you…’ He stepped into the room. A chill fell over Harry and he shivered; was he really going to find something? After all this time, was he really going to find something despite feeling nothing but suspicion and guilt? His breath came in short bursts, his shaky exhales puffing into the atmosphere as the Professor dug inside his dark blue waistcoat. ‘I have been warning you for five years but of course, being you, you wouldn’t listen, you never listen and as if you would listen to your friends when you don’t speak to them anymore…’ He grouched the words as he thrust a golden key down at Harry.  
Harry stared up, hands trembling around the key.  
‘I should have removed that box the last time you found it.’  
Harry jerked. ‘What?’  
Snape shook his head, pocketing his wand and holding his hands out to show he wasn’t going to do anything. Harry blinked, eyebrows drawn inwards at the odd words and took the golden key to the locks. They clicked loudly in the proceeding silence and his body shuddered as he shifted up onto his knees and flipped the lid back.  
He took a shuddering breath.  
Chapter 3.  
Picture frames.  
He blinked.  
Most of the contents were picture frames and within photographs. There was one of teenagers all dressed in casual attire celebrating the end of the war with glasses in the air toasting. There was a photograph of Dumbledore’s Army and a photograph of a teenage him in dress robes attempting to bring back someone out of frame.  
Why would these be locked away?  
He frowned, confused.  
There was one of adults twirling in dress robes around a dance floor. His hands clutched on the wood as something flashed across his vision. His dug his hands in deeper, rifling through the contents starting to pull out the contents. Soon he was surrounded by wizarding photographs in wooden frames all half cracked and some spattered with blood, looking uncomfortable out at him.  
His heart clenched at seeing this. Why was there encrusted blood?  
Was that a birthday party photograph? Who’s?  
His head ached, and he clutched it as his eyes closed momentarily. His hearing suddenly filled with laughter and happy screaming of young children and an all en-compassing pride. His eyes started to sting.  
‘Potter, take it easy. Do it slowly, you always rush…’  
He barely heard the strange soft words beside him, standing over him as he took a breath and lifted out a soft plush toy. It was, unmistakably homemade, it was barely the length of his inner forearm with its floppy ears swinging over his trembling fingers as he grasped it around the middle—the eyes were the same mismatched buttons as the ones on his duvet. Had he made this? Had he sewn on new eyes? Had someone else?  
He knew this toy.  
He clutched at it harshly, eyes scrunching behind his frames again. ‘Nn!’ A hand fell to his shoulder as his head fell forwards over the chest and his trembling hands brought the plush to his chest. He didn’t move from it. It was somehow comforting and familiar. ‘Toi-Toi’ He whispered, his voice cracking.  
‘Sorry?’  
‘This.’ He shook it roughly. ‘Its name is Toi-Toi, Professor.’ Snape let out a heavy breath but said nothing as Harry’s unoccupied hand once again rummaged through the contents of the chest. Everything was silent with only Harry’s pained groans and head clutching interspersing it. He had no idea how long he remained unfocused, staring at the items he revealed one after the other that now littered the space around him. ‘You hid these?’ His lips barely moved. His voice a whisper.  
‘Yes.’  
‘Why? Why would you do this? Why would keep this from me? Have you taken memories of my finding this away before? Was that what you meant earlier? All those whispered, broken words? Why?!’ He clutched a the plush and at a crystal necklace that he had recently found among the hidden pile. ‘Why would I simply forget all this? How could I forget all this? Why, if I’ve found them before, would you go and wipe the memory of it?!’ Tears were racing down his cheeks, and he was sure they had been for some time as he was repeatedly assaulted with memory after memory, even though they were broken.  
‘It…It isn’t that easy Harry.’  
‘Try me, sir.’ He growled.  
He sighed, a pained sound. ‘I, I did it because you asked.’  
‘I, I asked?’ His head flew up, his eyes red-rimmed and glassy.  
‘Yes.’ He was staring down at him with a pained expression. ‘This chest of memories, the draw, the moment it happened, everything Harry. You screamed into my fireplace, you were a mess…’ He scrubbed at his face, obviously reluctant. ‘When I came through…You barely registered I was there, you were muttering to yourself, you mumbled words at me “Clean this, please. All of it, everything, please.” You were broken Potter.’ His voice became gruff and he cleared it as Harry felt another pain-filled memory resurfacing.  
He bowed forward, his emerald necklace digging into his palm as his eyes locked closed once more—a refusal of his body to backout.  
He’d been at work. Everything had been normal, it was perfectly difficult as most of his jobs were. He’d been called out to a client’s home, something to do with picking up a cursed artefact that refused to be removed by the owner—according to the owner he had recently bought it home and it had already attempted to kill them in their own dining room.  
He’d gone to retrieve it, he’d gone to see if he could un-curse it. There had been nothing unusual about the request. He’d known this person, he’d had another artefact job with this man before; the man liked to buy mysterious objects at less than legal Auctions.  
He’d arrived only to be assaulted, bound and gagged. It had been a trap, orchestrated by some escaped Death Eater’s that had been biding their time, waiting for him to let his guard down. They’d imperious’d his client—they’d killed him and his family before Harry had gotten there which was unfortunate.  
They had taken their plan to double efforts. They hadn’t backed down.  
…He hadn’t gotten home in time…He hadn’t escaped in the nick of time.  
‘Harry! Harry! Potter that’s enough!!’ Hands clenched over his, he hadn’t known they’d been moving over his own forearms. He was sobbing, hard, whispering broken words that he had choked to Severus before.  
‘Sev…Severus…’ He choked, swallowing, ‘I…Luna…my…my Son.’ He turned into the body by his shoulder, pressing his face into the soft material there. His entire body was trembling, his hands clutching the older man’s clothes. The black shoulder length hair was splayed across his own, his chin on Harry’s head, his breath whispering over the raven strands as he himself breathed shallowly, nodding slightly, holding him. He could hear the heartbeat, it was beating the same tempo as Harry’s.  
He looked down and around, craning his neck to see the damage he had done to his own body just now, unconsciously. Perhaps, he wasn’t mentally prepared for this, and that was why he had asked this man to take the memories every time he showed a flicker of understanding, but he couldn’t, he wouldn’t do it this time, if he wasn’t ready now, then, when would he ever be?  
‘Is there more?’ He murmured.  
‘Harry…’ His breath puffed across the head under his, the beat jumping beneath Harry’s cheek; there was.  
‘Are there other boxes?’ It jumped again; there were.  
Harry nodded slowly, extracting himself from the embrace. Strange how his body still seemed to remember being similarly held before. He supposed, he had collapsed into the man before? ‘Show me.’ He stood abruptly which caused Severus to jerk and rise slowly himself with the same jerkiness as Harry forcefully stepped passed him, his hand still clutching the plush in his left and the emerald necklace in his right.  
‘You know…sir.’ He spoke matter-a-factly. ‘I always wondered what this was.’ He dug inside his shirt and withdrew a diamond on a thin piece of chain, though it was by no means a small crystal. ‘I could never bring myself to take it off, and I dare say I forgot to conveniently tell you to hide it. I suppose it’s similar to my glasses.’ He pushed them up his nose. ‘She gave them to me.’ He whispered, stepping further down the hallway to stand before the odd space of wall, figuring there was something more to it.  
‘We exchanged these necklaces on our wedding night.’  
‘I am aware. Harry, please think about forcing any more of this on your mind. It is a lot to take in, there are five years-worth of memories and I have taken them back from you more than twice on your request.’  
‘I know. Now. Open it.’ He growled, turning and glaring.  
‘Harry.’  
‘OPEN IT!’ He screamed, taking a threatening step forwards. ‘I’ve had enough of keeping this from myself, I’m ashamed to know I let you keep it from me.’  
A sigh. ‘Very—  
‘Scotland Yard would like to make it perfectly clear that they have conducted questioning with the surviving children and believe that is white haired child did this, as unbelievable as this is, we have tracked him down. What do you say child to be a suspect in this strange incident?’  
Snape froze, his foot mid-step forward and his voice half-way in defeat. Harry himself paused at he loud voice of the Reporter returning to the tv.  
The child she was interviewing seemed reluctant, ‘…The nargles did it.’  
‘The Nar—What? Is this child serious?’ The reporter seemed thunderstruck and appeared to be trying to talk to someone in the background with her microphone still turned on. Harry fell to his knees, whimpering as the tv abruptly switched off and footsteps could be heard heading toward the stairs at Snape’s sudden shout.  
‘I’m, I’m fine.’ He whimpered. ‘Nargles?’ He laughed humourlessly. ‘That boy’s not going to another orphanage he’s being taken to St. Mungo’s. Professor, get out of my way.’ He stood up from his doubled over position, wand at the elder man’s ribcage as he held out a hand.  
‘I should have noticed something…’ He mumbled.  
Chapter 4.  
Dressed in a dark green cloak, hood over his head to conceal himself from anyone watching he came in from the Muggle Street, keeping the hood up he stood before the receptionist.  
‘Can I help you sir?’ She stared at him suspiciously, her finger on a button beneath the desk just in his line of sight. He sighed, dropping the hood with a bit of magic. He stood there as she stared a moment. He brushed back his fridge and then let it drop when she blinked, and her eyes widened. ‘You’re—  
‘I am. You can do something for me. You can tell me whether or not a child was brought here recently. Very recently, though I’m not sure if the news was broadcasted today or not.’ He was starting to ramble. ‘Doesn’t matter. He’s probably saying something about Nargles? Or maybe he hasn’t spoken at all? His hair is white, it’s messy, the picture showed he had bandages but maybe he doesn’t anymore? He tan, like me, and his eyes are exactly, exactly the same as mine.’ He peered at her.  
She swallowed. ‘Oh, um, yes, of course, sir, he arrived here two days ago actually. You’ll find him down the hallway to your left and down the first right you see; it’ll be the double doors at the end of that hallway.’  
‘Thank you.’ He smiled politely and slipped by with no more fuss. When he reached the hallway he wanted, he paused before the metal doors and stared at the plaque—the words were written in fancy cursive and golden plating. He took a shaky inhale and exhale as he grabbed the handles and pulled. His limbs trembled as he stepped in, even fisting his hands at his sides or in his pants didn’t quell the shake they started up.  
It was a common room of sorts.  
He hoped his face wasn’t as blotchy as it felt. There were some adults around and lots of children. Some were in a corner playing a Wizard’s Chess game, another couple were playing a muffled Exploding Snape game and just a sprinkle were in the very centre of the room watching something fly across a screen on one of the new Wizard Screen sets: WS. He stepped quietly to another corner where one child sat, huddled in on himself, cleaner by far than Harry had seen on tv. The other child wasn’t in sight.  
He wore black jeans, a white collared shirt, pink socks in black trainers and a baby blue jumper with hooded ears of some kind but Harry ignored all this as he stepped closer and cleared his throat. ‘Ahem.’  
The boy’s body jerked but he didn’t do more than that.  
He tried again and once more until the head rose and his similar eyes, though Harry realised that they weren’t identical to his with the smallest hint of grey around the pupil visible under the lights; they went large momentarily and his lips moved soundlessly around words as he crawled himself to his feet, using the hospital white wall as leverage.  
‘Wruckspurts.’  
Harry’s body took a step back. ‘I beg your pardon?’  
‘Wruckspurts…’ The boy mumbled. ‘They’re an invisible species unless you have the right eyewear…’ Harry mumbled about spectraspecs. ‘They float around your head and make your brain go fuzzy. You’re heads full of them.’  
Harry blinked. Nargles? Wruckspurts? Harry’s head hurt.  
You’re an idiot. They were right, you’re so easy to manipulate.  
Harry blinked, and his head dropped an inch to the side with his eyebrows dropping inwards. ‘What?’  
‘I didn’t do it.’  
‘I never said you did, but if you did then I’m sure it was by accident. You’re young and you probably don’t know a lot about magic, but your emotions sway it and if someone was mean to you within that home, your magic could have lashed out and well, caused the collapse.’  
The boy shrank back.  
‘You are aware of magic, you aren’t very frightened being here and you’ve said some pretty magical things recently. No muggle would know what a Nargle was, or what a Wruckspurt is. Frankly, there aren’t a lot of people in our world that believe they exist.’  
‘They do.’ His voice almost seemed desperate to be believed.  
Harry crossed his arms over his chest as he stood before the small child, his emerald eyes intense. ‘what’s your name?’  
‘Huh?’  
‘Your name, what is it?’  
‘Why, do you want to know my name? Who are you?’ He swallowed.  
‘Harry. Now what is yours?’ Something just didn’t seem right here, how would this boy know anything about Nargles and Wruckspurts? There was a second in which the boy’s body froze and his eyes closed in something like agony.  
‘But who are you, why do you want to know my name? Are you from the Ministry or something? Are you going to charge me?’  
‘Charge you for what?’ He felt mildly bemused by this odd conversation.  
‘For murder?’ his forehead wrinkled as if confused.  
‘For murder? Are you serious? Not even a Ministry Official would come to charge a child for accidental magic, even if it was catastrophic. I don’t work at the Ministry, not unless they want me for a job. It hasn’t happened so far, though.’  
‘What’s your job?’  
‘I’m a Curse-breaker and an Ancient Runes Specialist.’  
‘Then why?’  
‘Why what?’  
‘Why do you want to know my name?’  
‘Because I think…’ Harry groaned.  
The white-haired head tilted, his fists clutched against his thighs. ‘My name is…A.’ He stared up into the emerald eyes.  
‘Ay?’ Harry tipped his own head in confusion. He didn’t believe this to be right. The head nodded though. ‘Very well, I don’t suppose you find it comfortable in the hospital, there’s also nothing wrong with you so far as I can see, you aren’t covered in bandages anymore. Would you like to leave?’ the eyes travelled up to meet his again after dropping. ‘Well, consider me strange, but I feel I should take you back to my home. You were in an orphanage anyway, I don’t suppose it would be a very large problem if I did what I wanted, for once. Would you like that, to come back with me?’ It definitely sounded strange when he voiced the thought, he was after all, a, stranger, wasn’t he?  
‘Yes.’ What else can I say, you came here, I can’t say no.  
‘What?’  
‘I said yes, I’ll go with you.’ You’re such an idiot.  
‘Sorry?’ Harry shook his head, what the hell was going on? It was like the boy was continuing to talk with his mouth closed. Thoughts? He couldn’t be unconsciously using Ligilimency could he? He cleared his throat before the boy could frown further and repeat himself. ‘Good. Alright, wicked, awesome. Nice.’  
[ ]=[ ]  
‘Uh this is…’ They just come through the Fireplace and into the Floo Chamber, with the now blue rug he’d spelled last month and came face to face with several angry and very concerned faces. Their mouths and eyes widened upon seeing them and their mouths snapped shut.  
‘A.’ The blonde supplied hastily, hands within his pockets. ‘I’m A.’  
Snape was blinking, eyes locked with the younger emerald eyes. ‘Potter, can I have a word with you in the hallway please.’  
Harry frowned. ‘Why?’  
‘Now.’ He came forward and grabbed him about the wrist, forcefully removing him from the chamber and into the darkened hallway; why were the lights dulled?  
‘What?’ Harry growled, shaking his wrist free.  
‘What the hell are you doing, Harry, bringing an Orphan into your home? You can’t just do that, you need to file papers and…You are in no way mentally prepared to raise children. You are not parent material right now Potter. Think. Why are you bringing someone that is believed to have slaughtered hundreds, even accidently, into your home? Is it because you see him?’  
Harry avoided the dark eyes, Snape didn’t need to elaborate the “him”. ‘So, what if he does? I was once parent material Professor, Severus I was a Father for Merlin’s sake, I had a wife and son.’  
‘Yes. Potter.’ He reprimanded. ‘He is not your son.’  
‘How do you know? He could have been taken to a Muggle Orphanage.’  
‘What? Do you honestly believe…’ He sighed, rubbing his temples. ‘Fine, do as you wish.’ He waved toward the doorframe to the chamber, where they could hear lowered voices. His friends were talking among themselves. ‘But you do not come crying to me, do you understand? I have done my utmost for you for the last 19 years.’  
Harry nodded slightly, eyes angled to the floor and mouth set. He walked back in, ‘Ahem, Ay, would you like eat something?’ The boy nodded, following in Harry’s wake quietly, eyes averted to the ground.  
[[ ]]=[[ ]] 

 

He followed the raven haired adult into where he presumed the kitchen was and sat himself where directed, jewelled orbs watching the back of the man making him what appeared to be jam sandwiches and a glass of orange juice.  
'I hope this is alright?' The plate was pushed in front of him and the man stood awkwardly back, pressing himself into the counter sink. It was more than fine, he hadn't had jam sandwiches since he was two; he was sure they had been his favourite at the time. He couldn't help but stare at the man trying not to stare at him, his eyes shifting from one thing in the room to another within seconds; it was very awkward.  
'I'm seven…' He whispered, cringing as he did so, fingers digging into the white bread.  
'Are you?' He whispered back, his own fingers clenching against the counter. 'Um, can you excuse me for a minute…I should probably fix you a bedroom or something?' He fled the room rather quickly, he thought, unable to help the small quirk of his lips at the uncomfortable-ness of his…of this man.  
-  
'Harry what on earth are you thinking, you've just kidnapped a child?!' Her words were whispered but harsh as he fled the kitchen, hand over his heart and hand over his head.  
'I'm aware…though he was previously in an orphanage.' He travelled up the stairs with her on his heels, and Ron, and Snape on hers. He stood before the blank space and spun, eyes searching out the elder man's. 'Professor, perhaps you would like to open this now?' He pointed with one straight finger though it did tremble to a certain degree.  
'What?' 'You didn't…'  
'I did Mrs Zabini, what else could I do? He wouldn't listen.' His ebony wand was pointing at the blank wall now, 'Here you are…' it was barely above a murmur as the wall practically dissolved—Taking a breath Harry cautiously took a step inside the lighted room, apparently the child's light had not been shut out—for it was magically generated, it was a sort of spherical transparent globe, it's light something of a blue tinted lumos, it stood perfectly alighted on the armoire, which was a vanished rosewood. This tinted light allowed him to survey the room without an actual lumos. His emerald eyes scanned everything with shallow breaths; the professor had clearly just sealed the room from view, it was perfectly intact, nothing missing or out of place within, it was just as his memories, which began to resurface of this time, depicted it—from the soft grey carpet beneath his shoes, to the rosewood rocking chair and it's pink cushion in the furthest left corner near the window and it's light blue silk curtains, to the azure painted walls that depicted actual fluttering golden snitches across them—they zoomed as they had the first day they had been painted and spelled onto the walls. To the change table beside the armoire (it seemed the running theme for the nursery was blue), to vibrant green toy box (besides this it would seem) with the big 'A' on the front, to the polished maple cot that stood directly in the centre of the room but placed against the right wall for easier access for both parents to stand on either side, to the rumpled midnight blue baby blankets and the toys stashed within them.  
Harry finally began breathing again; taking in heavy inhales and exhales through his nose, his eyes now stung so he closed them, his hands gripping the doorframe on either side of him. 'The box, where is it?' His lips barely moved.  
'Oh, Professor, you shouldn't have done this! Harry? Harry are you—'  
'No.' He began to shake his head fiercely, eyes still closed and hands still gripping. 'Snape isn't in the wrong here, you are Hermione, all of you, Ron, his parents, Gab, Remus, and everyone, they have to know this stuff right? There is no way such big news never reached the Daily Prophet, even you can't stop such news Hermione, no matter how much you probably wished too; there in there, in one of these other boxes.' He pointed into the room without opening his stinging orbs. 'Snape told me I asked him to "clean" everything, which means he hid everything, and I'm the one that personally forgot my memories of the events, of the family I had made in my hard fought freedom, I never asked you to help me forget them, from what I gather, I never told any of you, I screamed into Snape's fireplace. So why, exactly did you think it in my best interest to forget them altogether, to never remember them? Tell me, please. I beg you, why did you think, sure out the goodness of yours heart, I don't blame you for that; I just ask why you thought this was the best course of action to take with me? You even hid final battle photos, celebratory photos; merely because she was in them, and we were what, together? I remember until I was 21, then all of that till now, large chunks of it are blurs besides the obvious that I didn't forget….' He grabbed at his head with one hand as he sighed heatedly.  
'Doesn't matter now, forget it, Snape just tell me where it is?'  
'Potter maybe…'  
'Now, Snape, I won't ask a third time.'  
'Very well' he sighed, 'do you see those grooves in the wall over there' his arm came over Harry's that still clung to the doorframe and Harry followed the finger, orbs searching out grooves set into the wall; they squinted behind his lenses. 'You set the wardrobe into the wall when you built this house.'  
Harry jerked, hand falling to his side and body spinning halfway around to stare incredulously at the man, 'I?' He asked, pointing shakily at himself, 'I built this house?' He blinked owlishly, mouth lax, heartrate high and thumping against his ribcage, so then why… 'Did I build this house with Luna?'  
'No, you built it for you and Luna.'  
He nodded, 'more or less the same then' he took to entering the room, feeling a cold chill take over his body as he did so; he shivered, unable to stop it, or the shakes that started in his arms and fingers as he stood before the wall-robe, it was really well hidden. 'Interesting' he whispered to himself, admiring the spellwork and craftsmanship as he opened the doors.  
'So it's in here?'  
'Yes.'  
A small light dwelled at the top of the wardrobe, lightly illuminating the interior. Small jackets were hung on hangers of midnight blue and silver wire; little shoes were in a shoe rack at the bottom with two little backpacks laid against the metal, but there didn't seem to be—he cut his train of thought off as his eyes travelled upwards and locked with a box titled with azure letters; they spelled out the word, "Aura".  
'Aura' he whispered, and he took it up as a mantra as he took the box down from the robe, shoved the doors closed with a foot and stepped back out of the door to deposit the box. 'I know this is all my fault, that who I am caused all this…but please don't ever hide anything like this from me again, promise me?' He looked up, eyes hooded at his friends and former teacher.  
They stood looking guilty as he stood straight again, turned on a heel and set to tinkering with the interior decorating; it needed to be something a seven year old would admire right?  
'Do you…really remember so much?' Ron had decided to come into the room and plant his hand on his shoulder blade, making Harry pause his wand waving and "aura" whispering.  
His green eyes were still hooded as he spied his friend through the haze, 'More or less…'  
'You uh…didn't bring Ay home because he…' he seemed uncertain, uncomfortable even.  
'Looks like my son?' Harry supplied, turning away from his best friend and waving his wand in the armoire's direction- the clothes zoomed out and deposited into a box that Ron quickly conjured for him; Harry quirked a small smile in thanks. 'Yes, I did; is that a problem?'  
'N…no…Harry we're just worried about you.' Ron seemed to have frozen, so Hermione's voice chimed in with her own uncertainty; though it wasn't like the uncertainty was new.  
'I believe you, it's hard not to, but you have your own families to worry about, Ron you have a five year old daughter that needs your attention more than I, and two sons on the way, your wife needs you more than Harry Potter needs you. Hermione your husband is all the way in Italy attending to an inheritance of wineries, you had a life there with him, and your three children, though they may be here with you, I'm sure they miss their Father as well? And Lil'ra is only three…They need you more than I, let me worry about me?' He turned as he was speaking and turned his stare on Snape, unsure what to say, 'I respect you Severus, and I appreciate everything you do for' he shook his arms before him, 'this, and I thank you for not hindering my searches.' He said, nodding resolutely.  
'You are welcome, Harry. I believe that is the first time you have spoken my given name in the last six years, if it…holds anything, I do not actually know how you lost these memories in the first place, you asked me to put this stuff away yes, but you did not ask me to oblivate you, and I would not even if you had. I left you that night, reluctantly when you asked, you were still you, when I came back to check on you, which was the morrow, you were not.' He was shaking his long black strands. 'You were stretched thin, I suppose…'  
Harry inclined his head, acknowledging the truth of the matter—he really had, more than probably, taken his own memories away of the events and perhaps something had gone wrong due to his anguish and he took more than he had wanted too? His eyes widened abruptly as they fell on a small body, but not one that he was used to seeing; and in fact he hadn't seen them for some time, the fleeting thought vanished just as quickly with the question on his lips as he spoke to the boy, 'Ay.' The boy was looking at the box before the doorway, and swallowed as his name was spoken.  
'Hello.' He hastened, trying to cover up the jump Harry supposed, 'I finished the sandwiches and juice…sir.' His green orbs moved through the pack of adults, moving from one to the next with increasing unease.  
Harry frowned at the reactions, 'The room should be ready in a few minutes, sorry for the delays, uh, ah! Zavier.' The boy jumped as he was spotted hanging around the stairwell banister, his brother and Willow stationed behind him; so that was where they had been then. 'Would you mind showing Ay the television?'  
'Sure.' He came forward reluctantly and grabbed the covered wrist with an awkward smile gracing his mocha skinned features. 'It's in the sitting room downstairs…' As they turned, the silvery strands of Ay's hair flowing around his porcelain face; a necklace swung around the revealed neck, swinging through the air—it was a thin band of silver with a gobstone sized aqua crystal dangling on the end. Harry stared transfixed for but a second and spoke before they took one step off the landing, 'Where did you get that?' His finger shook as he pointed with the trembling words.  
The silvery haired boy looked puzzled, then with a widening of eyes jumped and hastened to shove the piece of jewellery beneath his shirt; 'Um, nowhere, it's just…just a silly little trinket sir, one of the kids at the orphanage gave it to me.' It was a very lame explanation.  
'Oh?' Harry asked, his brain, and heart told him it was a blatant lie.  
'Um, I don't know where he is now…everything happened so quickly…he followed me everywhere; it was something of a…friendship thing?' His words were almost frantic, merging together and becoming garbled. It didn't becoming any less a lie, especially when a small bit of sweat beaded on his forehead—though he swiped it nonchalantly. 'Where was that television again, I've never seen one before…' This, to Harry appeared to be truth.  
'Mm, go on then Zavier, show young…Aura, to the tv.' The boy jerked, but his brow furrowed within a second as he followed the other boy down the stairs. Harry narrowed his eyes with a smirk, emerald eyes glittering.  
'Potter'  
Harry turned around, ignoring it, his lips kept the quirk as his eyes kept the glitter as he continued to rearrange the room. The last thing he needed to do was change the maple cot into a normal child's bed and use the clean sheets from the hallway cupboard.  
It took no more than five minutes, 'will this do?' He stepped aside and spread his arms akimbo, so the silver haired child could see the interior (he'd gone and collected the child); it was no different than before, with the snitches still on azure painted walls, and the rosewood armoire, and maple wood, but it no longer looked like a nursery, but a young boy's room.  
Harry's lips twitched as Ay nodded; he could hear the small shuddering breaths as the child made his way inside the room when Harry nodded for him to do so, he watched as the child's green eyes scanned the room, felt he saw recognition spark, then with another nod, he watched him deposit himself on the mattress of the maple bed frame. His small hands almost seemed to reverently stroke the midnight covers and his lips hard-pressed not to snicker at the snitches that zoomed beneath his hands.  
'You are of course free to try out the bed if you like? If you need anything like pyjama's or something I'm sure Zavier can help you there, um, if you need anything else, feel free to come seek me out—we'll be in the kitchen.'  
There was a small nod before he shut the door, he stood on this side and stared at the plain door that had been revealed—it was blue.  
-  
'Don't go believing things that aren't proven Potter.' The man wasn't even facing Harry, turned away as he was setting the kettle on the stove, not that this couldn't have been done with magic; but whatever the man wanted to do.  
'He had a necklace.'  
'That means nothing.'  
'He had a reaction to me asking.'  
'It still does not mean anything.'  
'It means something.'  
'Potter'  
'Snape'  
The man sighed, 'Look Harry, that necklace could have come from anywhere, it could have come from where he said it did, it could be nothing but a trinket, the same as his reactions could have been nothing more than confusion.' He turned around, hands on the sink.  
'Confusion, but why would he be—'  
'Because clearly you were rearranging a nursery, and yet, you do not have a child.'  
'Well that's…He had a reaction to me saying Aura, that isn't—'  
'Yes it is. It is still classified as confusion, Potter.'  
'Well then, what about Nargles and Wrackspurts, his colouring, his freaking eyes, Severus, what about his god damn green eyes? Nobody has as green eyes as me.'  
'I am sure somewhere…'  
'No.' Harry crossed his arms over the table, face set.  
'You are not the only—'  
'No.' Harry growled. 'Luna believed in Wrackspurts and Nargles, she believed in all manners of strange and weird things that haven't been proven yet, he believes in those too, at least those two, so please Professor give me a solid reason, why he couldn't be?'  
'Because you have no evidence that your son is even still alive, he was taken from you at two years of age, by Death Eaters, do you honestly believe Harry that they would keep your son alive if they had already killed your wife?' It was harsh, really, it made him flinch back in his seat and drop his crossed legs beneath the table, his arms to fall back to his lap and his mouth to go dry.  
'…I apologise.'  
His head shook, his eyes downcast as others entered the kitchen.  
'What iz going on?'  
He shook his head again.  
'Harry?'  
And again it shook.  
'Professor?'  
This time it was the elder's head that shook in the negative. A silence that was thick rolled over the kitchen, exempt of course from all the everyday noises of the kitchen appliances and making of foodstuffs, and feet padding across the floorboards.  
'If you do not want to believe in a miracle, then I will.' His voice was quiet and his head bent over his tea cup, but as it was quiet that you could have heard a pin drop on the wood, it rang across the space, bouncing around the five of them.  
'Potter'  
'Nobody wants to see you hurt, Harry.'  
'Then don't watch.' He shot this back quietly at his bushy haired friend, then stared at all of their still concerned faces, head tilted inquisitively—in such a way that it was, he did not care if he got burned by his choices or his beliefs. He knew now, at least some, and had only to go back upstairs and rifle through that "Aura" box he'd sat in his room to know more. Was it not fair, if he finally had the destructive mindset he should have had?  
-  
Severus shook his head, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back in the kitchen chair. There are those out there that believe the same things the previous Mrs Potter did, it means nothing you imbecilic child, nothing that this child believes in them too, or that he looks almost identical to what your son would look like now, pale as if he'd never seen the sun and silvery white haired with emerald eyes; I'll admit the eyes are unusual, but it's been five years—it's unreasonable to think that your boy is still alive at all, but then… He stared below his lashes as the man across from him conversed with Mrs Zabini. You never were a very reasonable person.  
-  
Harry was sat cross-legged on his bed, dressed in his nightclothes, the door firmly shut, with his hands digging through the contents of the "Aura" box. Within almost seemed to have more than the chest that had been glamoured at the top of his wardrobe;  
Old newspaper clippings—but they weren't just from the daily prophet.  
Unbloodied photos of his son and himself, and ones with Luna right alongside them.  
Clay polished booties plaque with "Aura" engraved below it.  
There was a handprint one with the same engraving etched into the mould.  
A golden bracelet that sparked against the light; it wasn't bigger than two of Harry's fingers.  
A few newborn clothes that they'd obviously not wanted to throw out.  
Most of the baby books were in this box as well; naming, parenting, educating, and caring.  
Birthday cards, from age 1 and 2—if he remembered correctly, he had barely been two.  
What drew Harry were the newspaper clippings, because this meant that it had been in the papers and yet, if Harry left the house, no one said anything; how was this? How could the entire Wizarding World forget that he had lost his family almost six years ago? He jerked abruptly as something began to hum in the back of his head.  
This was not a memory.  
He blinked quickly, hand to the back of his head, pressing the strands. No, he shook his head, this was not a memory—it was the wards. Padding quietly to his bedroom door, Harry frowned as the buzzing abruptly cut off; he paused with his hand on the doorhandle.  
Now what had that been? He frowned further.  
It happened again, two hours later when he went downstairs for a nightcap.  
________________________________________  
Chapter 6: Chapter 5  
________________________________________  
'Crestlier reporting to you on the horrific news that has just been released to me from Scotland Yard, though I believe they aren't doing enough to catch these criminals; another target has been hit, it happened late last night as partygoers held a festival in Spye Park in Wiltshire, 150 lives were taken, a low number in comparison, it was as if he knew exactly who he was going to slaughter next and left the other partygoers to scream as fellow festival'er's fell around them. According to the police this may not be the same criminal that they are trying to capture, as it wasn't in London, but clearly this means nothing, it's the same style of slaughter.' The reporters voice quietened and then stopped altogether before Harry could make his way into the sitting room, toast in his mouth; on the sofa sat all the children, their faces drawn and Lil'ra in tears on her eldest brother's lap.  
'Why are you watching the news?' He didn't miss the jump from Ay or that he was the one with the remote clutched in his fingers. 'Have you had breakfast?' His eyes flicked to the silent reporter fluttering around the screen, pointing out the crime scene (it was clear of mess), possibly describing how she thought the murderer had come in silently and slaughtered a number of people; Harry had a mind to believe her, that the criminal was targeting specific people.  
'That was the pagan festival.' Harry jumped at the voice that came behind him. 'Sorry mate' he snickered as he made his way around him and leaned on the sofa's armrest, stroking Willow's strawberry hair behind her ear.  
'Pagan festival?'  
'Yeah you know, when muggle's worship witchcraft?'  
Harry nodded slowly, unsure what to really say, his mind was turning with the news now and the previous news; there was definitely something fishy going on there.  
'It's not your problem Potter.' He jumped again, spinning around to stare at the man, who was cloaked in his usual attire but he had his hair clasped behind his neck with a silver clasp.  
'Did you stay here last night?' He queried.  
'I did, was I not allowed?'  
'…No, it's…It's fine. What do you mean it's not—'  
'It is not your problem, if it is orchestrated by Wizards, it does not concern you, you did your duty, you have your own problems to organise.' He came forward and tapped the side of Harry's head before he could move away. 'Focus on this, not the news.'  
'But—'  
'No, Potter.'  
He sighed, pushing his hair back from his eyes. Alright, alright, the man was right, he had his memories to focus on, the wizarding world wasn't his concern anymore, yeah, he could deal with that, it was fine; he could do that, right? He clutched at strands as he warred with himself silently, his features scrunching up in frustration.  
'Harry are you alright?'  
He nodded silently, a twitch of a smile coming to his lips to satisfy them all, though it had been Hermione, coming into the room, which said this. 'I have work to do…' He mumbled, stepping around both her and the Professor.  
-  
Barely out of having dinner and there was the hum in the back of his head again, he frowned as he put down the book and his liquor, standing to his feet.  
'Potter?'  
'It's nothing' he mumbled, stepping out of the library and into the entrance hall, the hum continued until he was at the staircase, then once again, it abruptly stopped buzzing. He paused with a foot on the upper stair and his hand on the banister, Snape below him, staring at him in concern.  
'What is it?'  
'Nothing'  
'Harry'  
'Really, it isn't…' the buzzing came back before shutting off after five seconds. He frowned, hastily making his way up the stairs and stopping before the blue door. 'Ay?' He knocked before opening the door, there was only a small bit of resistance on the hinge.  
'Hmm…?'  
He had rumpled hair, sticking up in all directions and he was sitting up on elbows, staring at Harry as if he couldn't see him, 'ah, sorry I woke you, I just…' He further frowned, padding at the side of his head, hand on the doorhandle. 'I'm sorry, go back to sleep.'  
Harry sighed as the door closed on the white haired boy nodding slowly and slipping back into the blankets. 'Harry what the—' He ignored the man and turned to his own bedroom, 'I think I might go to bed earlier today, I'm tired.' He forced a yawn to make it believable to the eyebrow raised man.  
'Very well…I will see you in two days; I will be busy at Hogwarts.'  
Harry nodded, 'Goodnight Severus.' 'Goodnight Harry.'  
-  
He sighed heavily, pushing the blankets back down to his ankles and swinging his legs over the mattress; that had been way to close for comfort.  
Is he gone, brat?  
'Yes'  
The boss decided that it would be better if we stretched out your missions, now that you are living with the man. He might become suspicious, so not tonight or tomorrow, but the day after you are to do this assignment—that clear?  
He nodded though the man could not see, the voice coming from the silver ring on his left pointer finger, the runes etched into the metal glowing a brilliant red into the room, 'Yes sir' he verbally clarified when there was silence.  
Good, now get some sleep and plan your attacks.  
-  
When morning came and he traversed down the stairs to the kitchen, he was met with the sight of the raven haired man that had taken him in, sitting at the kitchen table, head bowed to the marble, hands spread across a numerous amount of photos, the people within moving and quietly speaking with him.  
He stepped quietly around the kitchen, taking a seat on the opposite side of the table; he stared piercingly down at the photos, swallowing thickly as he noticed the contents.  
'Oh, Ay, do you want some breakfast?'  
It appears his swallow wasn't as quiet as he thought it had been, he nodded slowly, lips stuck together like they'd been glued shut. One of the people in a photo close to him gasped, her hands coming up to clasp over her mouth, her eyes, crystal blue—like the necklace that hung around the raven man's neck, went as wide as an owl's, before a finger pointed shakily at his form; he bit his lips and shook his head slowly.  
'Ah, that's Luna.'  
He jumped, 'What?'  
'Luna- The woman in the picture.' He pointed over Ay's shoulder, his scent permeating A's nostrils; it was pleasant, soapy, fatherly. 'She was my wife.' He continued, 'We met in my fifth year at Hogwarts.'  
'Hogwarts?' He queried, unable to help the small shiver that ran through his spine.  
'Mm, Hogwarts School of witchcraft and wizardry, it's where I attended for seven years of my life, well, it's probably fair to say I only spent six years of my life there; and it wasn't all fun and games, in fact it rarely was.' He moved away and Ay sighed bereft into the juice that was set before him. 'Bread is in the toaster, it won't be a moment.' He leaned against the counter closest to it, 'I'm still trying to remember that part of my life.'  
'Rem—remember?' He couldn't help the stutter that surfaced after the small pause.  
'Yes' he didn't elaborate and Ay stared into the orange liquid.  
-  
Harry wasn't sure why he was saying it, but thought better to say anything more, remembering the times when his wards buzzed in the middle of the night.  
________________________________________  
Chapter 7: Chapter 6  
________________________________________  
Three weeks. The boy had been in his home for three weeks, he got on well with the other kids, Willow seemed to have a weakness for the pale complexion because she blushed when he entered a room, he'd been quiet, polite, the perfect child really, there was just one thing that concerned Harry about this—the news reports.  
Five, there had been five accounts of crimes, slaughters, and most of them now close to Godric's Hollow, the same types as the ones that had been plaguing London until recently.  
There had been several accounts of his wards going off in the middle of the night, something was going on here and hard as he might, Harry couldn't avoid it like Snape wanted him too. He'd taken to staying up to the time around when the buzzing happened, sitting somewhere within the house, a book in hand, a tumbler at his fingertips, or a plate of snacks on his lap.  
Now was no different, only this time, he wasn't the slightest bit tired and he had Snape across from him snoozing in the armchair, a book splayed across his chest, his reading glasses (those had surprised Harry when he had seen them, but apparently from the look the man gave, Harry had already witnessed it and had the same reaction the first time) crooked on his nose.  
HUM, HUM, HUM.  
Emerald eyes narrowed as it began, 'Tempus', a bright green iridescent clock shimmered into existence before his very eyes, illuminating the man behind it with a green glow.  
It was 12:30 am.  
He'd decided he wasn't going to do anything tonight, merely figure out if what he thought was going on, was in actual fact, "going on". Now, from the time now, there should be at least two hours between the next hum entering his head.  
He flipped through several books and sipped from his filled tumbler of amber liquor, before he heard the hum once more, heard a muffled crash upstairs (the man across from him jerked in his sleep, dark eyes blinking open), and cast a tempus. '2:30 am' he whispered, emerald eyes locking with frowning obsidian.  
'What?'  
'It's 2:30, Severus.'  
'So?' he shifted within his armchair and snapped the book closed, placing it on the coffee table between them. Harry shrugged a twitch in his jaw. 'What precisely are you up to Potter?' He narrowed his black eyes; Harry shrugged once more as he stood, taking his socked feet up the staircase—the man followed, padding as silently as Harry until they paused before the blue door. 'Potter…?'  
'Shhh' he pushed a finger to his lips and pressed his head to wood. There was movement from within, from what it sounded like it was the opening and closing of the wardrobe, the shuffling of getting out and in to clothes and then the ruffling of blankets. Snape's head came to rest beside his with a raised eyebrow an a quirking smirk as their noses touched and Harry's eyes closed involuntarily.  
'Are we suspicious Potter?' He asked this whence they had gone back downstairs.  
'Shut up' he groused, tossing back a tumbler of scotch.  
'Hah' it was a bark of laughter, which caused Harry to widen his eyes and his mouth to drop an inch from the tumbler; his lips glistening. 'You are coming back to yourself.'  
'Am I?' He questioned.  
'You are.' He nodded once, the quirk to his lips still there.  
-  
Neither of them went to sleep, conversing until they could hear footfalls coming down the stairs, Harry sat up straighter, his words pausing. Harry angled his head at the doors, 'Kitchen' he murmured at the confused stare.  
Together they stepped into the kitchen, two children sat here.  
'Morning' Harry smiled.  
'Mornin' Uncle Harry, Professor.'  
'Good morning'  
'I wish to ask you something, but I might wait until we have everyone awake and eating breakfast.' He continued to smile as he made himself and Severus coffee. It wasn't long; perhaps 15 minutes or so before the rest of the household was downstairs and conversing around the kitchen table.  
'Ahem' Harry cleared his throat, standing from his chair; eyes followed him with curiosity. 'With the permission from parents, and the children of course, would it be alright if I take the impressionable children outdoors, into London?'  
'Of course Harry, if you—'  
'I will of course be accompanying Mister Potter.'  
'Oh well, that's great, but are you up to it Harry?'  
'Yeah, I feel great.' He smiled hugely.  
'Well then, you are more than welcome, but I don't think Lil'ra will go.'  
'That's fine; it's more to the older children anyway.' He smiled sheepishly.  
There were some laughs but as soon as the children were done eating, they raced up the stairs to get dressed; you could hear their feet pounding on the upper floor. 'It iz very kind of zyou Harry, where iz it you plan to take ze children?'  
'Specifically?' He asked, draining the rest of his coffee; he needed to get dressed too. There were nods of confirmation, 'Children like parks right?' he questioned, 'I thought maybe they'd like to go out to a park or something—not one of the ones that…' They were all staring incredulously so he thought he'd clarify for them, even though this was technically a massive lie. 'Excuse me though; I need to get dressed myself.'  
'I will duck back to Hogwarts; I'll be back in 20 minutes.'  
'Alright, that's fine Severus.'  
-  
Harry pointedly watched the children as they made their way into the park, in fact, he made a point to watch the porcelain face with emerald orbs. His pale eyelashes, almost not existent were fluttering as they stepped onto the green earth; there were patches of black grass, seared by fire—from the reports that Harry had searched extensively in the last few weeks, it was almost as if some of the people slaughtered here had spontaneously combusted, others had been merely…stabbed and then set alight.  
'Uncle Harry?'  
'Yes Willow?'  
'Why are we in Green Park, isn't this one of the…one of the—'  
'One of the crime scenes…' supplied Zavier, hands in his pockets and eyes scanning the ground and around the trees. 'Why did you bring us to a crime scene?'  
'Aren't children interested in this stuff?'  
'No.' Marcel shook his black curls. 'We aren't.'  
'Uh, I'm sorry, let's go to the market then?'  
'But that's—'  
'A market is a market, it's actually a place full of stores filled with interesting items and contraptions, regardless of it having been one of the first crimes; people still attend them.' He gathered them and together, they took the bus to the Thames boardwalk. 'There see, lots of people gather to see the market stalls, come on, it won't harm you, you might even like something and Uncle Harry will buy it for you.'  
'Potter'  
'Mm?'  
'What is that you are trying to accomplish by doing this?' It was whispered into his ear and he shivered at the warm breath on the chilled appendage.  
'Honestly?'  
'Yes'  
'I'm not a 100% sure myself.'  
-  
They went to several parks and markets, even a water park that caused both adults to transfigure all their clothes into swim suits in the bathroom—they had, had to wait five minutes before they could do any such thing, busy as it was.  
They also got strange looks as they travelled with the mixed group, they even got comments that Harry flushed at and Snape grouched at, most of them from old folks and overly polite receptionists and ticket personnel, they were all something along the lines of; 'Oh, how lovely, such lovely parents, taking your children to the water park', 'Bold aren't we, but such a lovely couple', 'bit older that one, maybe he's taking all his children to the park?'  
That one had Snape hurrying up their footsteps and walking around the corner. Through this entire adventure, Harry watched Ay's reactions. By the time they had reached home and Harry had fiddled with the key in the front door, Ay's head was permanently lowered, he barely spoke, and his eyes barely focused on anything for overly long. If it happened again tonight, then Harry would do something about it.  
Chapter 6,  
Tonight,  
Tonight marked the night,  
The night…  
The day had been horrible, besides the waterpark, but that had been the only fun part of the day, the rest of it had him reliving all the horrible things he'd done since he'd turned seven. Did the man perhaps know? If he knew, then this was going to be twice as hard to accomplish, not that it wasn't already twice as hard already—if he hadn't spoken that name the first time he'd came here, if he hadn't given him jam sandwiches, or this room, or hadn't seen this necklace that hung from his neck.  
He sighed downtrodden as he perched on the edge of the bed; the maple digging into his buttocks through the pyjama's that he had borrowed from Zavier—the boy was nice. They were all nice; he didn't want to do this.  
Why couldn't he just find the right time or the right spell to shove these missions in those men's faces? Why was he so scared that one day they'd proclaim him useless and kill him? That was what it was, it was fear, fear that one day, this leash would choke him if he didn't obey them; they were out there, they knew where he was, they knew how to get to him.  
There was no choice.  
He slipped from the maple, feet thudding onto the carpet, slipped out of the borrowed clothes, standing in nothing but his green underwear, he folded them carefully and sat them on the made bed; he would not be sleeping in it tonight, tonight, it was the last time he would be in this house, forever.  
He choked as a sob escaped his lips, hands scrubbing crossly at them, he pushed open the wardrobe took out his mission suite and the rest of the clothes, the shoes, the pack, and exempting the suit, shoved everything inside the backpack.  
He stared around the room as he pushed his head into the soft black material of his long sleeve formfitting shirt, it covered to his wrists, and then gloves would cover to his first knuckle; a harness of dark leather was wound around his torso for his weapons and flash potions, and his legs slid into leather jeans designed for combat, black boots that slid to his knees were slipped over his white socked feet and then with a heated sigh, he slipped a glamour of black over his hair.  
'Now…' out the window.  
-  
'What are you doing Ay?'  
He jumped a foot into the air, not expecting a voice to greet him as he returned. He spun on his heel as he closed the window and drew the curtains, gloves scourgified of blood. 'Mist—'  
'I suppose.' He was leaning against the doorframe, shadowed by the light filtering in through the hallway behind him; his hair covered most of his face and kept one green eye glowing in the darkness. 'Where do you keep going, or should I say why?' 'Or further yet…' he didn't let the startled child get a word in, 'Why are you, a seven year old boy, murdering thousandths of people?'  
'I…'  
He shook his head, 'No, you can't get out of this. Sit down.' He pointed to the bed, he felt really disappointed, angered even; even if this boy was not his son, he had taken him into his home, he had fed him, taken him on an outing, and he'd given him his son's room. 'Sit down' he growled when the boy didn't comply, slamming the door as he came into the room and dropped himself on the mattress.  
The footsteps were quiet, nimble, and slow but he finally sat on the edge of the mattress as if ready to flee at any second; it was a good choice, the boy had survival instincts.  
'You can tell I'm displeased?' There was a silent nod. 'Good, do you understand the reason?' There was more silence and he sighed heavily, 'I have been through a lot of shit in my life Ay, I had a prophecy declared after I was born deciding that only I could kill a Dark Lord that plagued the world, I first defeated him when I was barely two years old, he took away my parents, I was placed with relatives that cared nothing for me, He followed me to school, I killed a teacher that had been chosen by Voldemort to be a parasite for his own soul when I was Eleven, I almost died, my friend almost died, I have almost died more times than I would care to admit, all whilst attending Hogwarts, and my Godfather was ripped from me before I really knew him more than a few years, I actually did die to get rid of something evil when I was seventeen—do you understand where I'm going with this?  
I found love after the Second Wizarding War was won, but I barely remember it, I married that women and we bore a child together, his name, Aura, and they were taken from me when he was barely two years old, for all intents and purposes I took my own memories. I have been through so much, and I don't want to be selfish, but aren't you being a bit disrespectful to me, to my home, my generosity?'  
There was a swallow and he stared harder at the bowed head, dispelling the glamour as he did so; the boy jerked but did nothing else like the first time they had met in St. Mungo's.  
'I'm…I…I'm sorry.'  
'Are you?'  
Silver hair moved up so as to peer into the emerald mirrored back, the silver strands fell over those brilliant shimmering orbs, the tear drops sliding down the porcelain face caused Harry to rear back ever so slightly on the duvet; was this truth? Or was it acting?  
'I…I'm sorry…I'm…I…I'm so sorry!' he cried the words as he flung himself toward Harry, a silver flash appearing in Harry's peripheral—he felt a spike of pain before he registered that the boy was running out of the room and down the hallway, the silver dagging dripping Harry's blood on the floorboards.  
'Ay! NNNG!' He doubled over as he threw himself to his feet, his hand blinding reached out for the wall as his stomach contracted painfully; he wasn't very game to look down, not as he saw the handprint of red on azure wall beside the open door.  
Doors were slamming open down the hallway, he moved himself, one hand on the wall and the other on his stomach; it was deep. 'Ay!' he shouted, colour draining from his face. He ignored as Snape appeared beside him, urging him to stop and tell him what the shouting was about; he was in his nightshirt—it would have caused Harry a few snickers if he could spare the breath, for it had a cauldron on the front that bubbled green glob onto the shirt, but this wasn't the time for snickers at his Ex-Potions Teacher's night clothes, he had a seven year old to stop.  
'Ay!' He shouted again, urging himself agonisingly down the hallway to the children's bedroom; sure that the child had come this way. He paused at Zavier's open door and heaved a breath as the boy was floating on the roof, a bat in his hands, eyes wild.  
'Uncle Harry!'  
'It's alright, Severus take Zavier downstairs, I'll send the others.' There was hesitation but the man nodded slowly, grasping the floating boy's ankle and mindfully moving him to the stairs. Harry sweat beading on his forehead, not concerned for his own health, moved down the hallway; he stopped at Marcel's room, he was in the corner, eyes just as wild as his brother's, covered with a protego and holding his own dagger—though it was plastic; he sent him downstairs too. Lil'ra was safely ensconced in her crib with her mother's protective spells protecting her from harm; he breathed a breath and floated her down the stairs carefully. Next was Willow, she wasn't in her room; which caused Harry a semi-heart attack.  
'Willow?!' He shouted, urging himself quicker down the hallway, blood dribbled down his clothes to the floor, dropping onto the floorboards. 'Willow?!'  
'Harry?'  
'Her…'Mione…' He breathed, having some trouble. 'You're, you're alright.'  
'Yes?' She frowned, 'What's—'  
'Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!'  
They both jumped into action as they heard the screams, skidding into Ron and Gabrielle's bedroom, where it seemed to come from; it was still going. Harry's mouth dropped open as he spotted the scene inside. Gabrielle was huddled on the bed; hands clasped over her stomach with her daughter protectively between one arm and huddled into the blankets, her face as white as a sheaf of paper, tears travelling down her flushed cheeks. Ron was in nothing but boxers with his wand pointed down at a huddled figure in the corner, the limbs trembled around the head of silver that splayed across the floor; 'Ron!' Harry screeched, wrenching the wand from the unfocused gaze of one of his best friends. 'He's a child!'  
'He's a murder.' He growled. 'He hurt my daughter.' He further hissed, knuckles cracking as he tried to advance. Saying nothing to the contrary Harry moved to intercept the angered man, emerald eyes roaming over the young girl once more; there was an open wound across her neck, slowly soaking the collar of her nightgown red.  
Harry clenched his jaw, eyes screwing shut in a new kind of agony. 'I'm sorry.' He whispered, keeping his hands clasped around his friend's wand, then advanced on the whimpering child, his shirt was scored open as he lowered himself. 'Ron, what else did you—'  
'He came in here like that, I only did that.' He pointed down to the quivering in anger.  
'Alright, I'm going to need some answers now; the truth Ay.' He lowered his voice, though it wasn't hard to do with how angry he felt, then grabbed the boy around the middle; he didn't protest, though he did whimper and clutch the back of Harry's shirt as he pressed him into his side as he exited the bedroom—his friends followed, standing in the door arms crossed as they converged in the sitting room.  
Hermione of course went to her sons' and daughter when she saw their frightened faces, though Lil'ra was still fast asleep in a conjured basinet.  
Harry threw the boy into an armchair, uncaring as he bounced and clawed at the material, his throat whimpering and his eyes producing copious amounts of tears behind the silver strands of limp hair. He turned after a piercing stare with the lowered white head and whispered into the Professor's ear as he withdrew a small green vial from the waistcoat—the man had clearly switched over clothes, good course of action.  
'Now, open wide.' He clasped the white jaw tight enough to cause him to open his mouth but not enough to bruise; he wasn't that cruel. 'What is your name?' He was going to get answers and he was going to get them now. The jaw clenched so Harry's eyes narrowed, 'What is your full name?' he growled, adrenaline having taken over.  
'Au…' It clenched again, as the hands did on the armrests.  
'The sooner you tell the absolute truth the quicker it will be for me to decide what to with you and your disrespect.'  
The small body jerked as it hiccoughed. '…Au..ra…O…siris…Potter…' He sighed, emerald orbs closing as Harry fell to the floor with a pained groan. 'I'm…I'm sor-'  
'Your age?' He interrupted eyes downcast to the bloodstain on his clothes and hands.  
'…Seven…'  
'Your birthday?' He whispered.  
'May 3rd, 2002; it's the same date as your wedding anniversary.' He whispered.  
Harry swore quietly, hand coming back to cover the wound behind his ripped shirt. He ignored any whispered words that were coming from behind him, or gasps.  
'Your Mother's name?'  
'Luna Potter, though I only know that from the times you spoke each other's names and…' The jaw clenched once more and the hands clawed at the material of the chair.  
'And…?'  
'…And the men that mocked what they did, to my face…' He choked.  
'Do you remember?'  
'Yes'  
'How?'  
'I'm not stupid'  
Harry laughed at this, 'there a very many different forms of "stupid", Aura, it does not mean you are not stupid for what you have done recently. So tell me, as your Father, why have you done all this? Why have you killed innocent people? Why did you try to kill me and my friends, my family? Your family.' His voice took on an edge as he straightened himself back up, though he remained kneeling on the floorboards.  
The green came up, staring through strands of hair, directly into Harry's equally green eyes. 'Because I haven't had a choice, I'm scared, I'm afraid, I was taken from here when I was two, from my parents, my mother was slaughtered in front of me, my Father was nowhere to be seen as this happened, and I was taken by the men that did it; they aren't nice people, shouldn't you know this already? They were men you let escape.' His own voice held an edge and he came forward in his seat an inch, peering down as Harry's mouth opened and his eyes narrowed in astonishment. 'They wanted this, they wanted all this, and you've been entrapped by them for seven years without realising; they followed everything you did, bidding their time, it's amazing how much one can say to someone they've claimed as their own, isn't it?' He hissed, green eyes sparking. 'I was trapped in a small room, with nothing but a bed, a cold floor, a wall sconce, a side toilet and wash basin, and a constant chill seeping into my bones until I was five, then I got a bedroom, I got books, I got clothes, I got a light, but I didn't get love and I certainly didn't have a childhood, I got those things because they wanted to train me, they used me as their own tool, their own weapon.' He took a shaky breath. 'I slaughtered hundreds in that orphanage because they asked me too, because I couldn't think of any way to stop it from happening, except to draw a protective rune in the common room, that's the only reason those 9 survived my accidental anger.  
You were right, I did lash out, but I would have had to do it anyway. I killed those people in Green Park because I had too or I would be punished, I don't like being punished; it hurts.' His pale face was closer now; it was hard for Harry to focus on the angered face.  
'I murdered those people at the markets because I was told too, I slaughtered those people at the Pagan Festival because I was told too, and I slaughtered all those others because I—'  
'Because you had too.' Harry whispered, 'Severus, he still under?'  
'He is.'  
'Alright then, you said you got punished, is that what those are?' His voice came out wispy, his breathing shallow and his eyesight deteriorating by the minute; before that happened, he would find out the absolute truth.  
'Yes'  
'Why did you try…' He had to pause to take a heaving breath, '…try…to kill us?' There was a tilt of the white head before the eyes closed in his blurry vision. 'Because they wanted me too, it was my main objective after the orphanage, it was to draw you out; it worked. And didn't my dagger?' He whispered, a shaky laugh escaping his throat as a tear fell from his left eye.  
'You haven't stopped the bleeding.'  
'What?! Potter you imbecile!' A large hand threw his shoulder back as the colour finally drained from his face and his body slid backwards, eyes flickering closed and his hands falling limply by his sides, as he was lowered to the ground the full impact of the dagger was revealed, Harry's entire shirt was saturated in fresh red blood, as his hands were stained with the colour.  
________________________________________  
Chapter 8: Chapter 7  
________________________________________  
'Fuck!' He swore, pulling his ebony wood from within his coat pocket and beginning a bunch of healing spells, 'You!' He spat, a red-stained finger pointing accusingly at Aura, 'You know runes?' The white head nodded slowly, 'Then start chanting you good for nothing little brat!' He pulled with all his strength until the stubborn child was on the floor and was closer to his dying father; something that should put things in perspective.  
'You want not to be frightened anymore?' He growled, not waiting for an answer he kept growling, obsidian eyes focused on the barely breathing body before him. 'You chant as hard as you can at your Father's wound, and you make sure he lives, but first; Zabini!' He snapped, the woman jumped near her children.  
'Sir?' Her voice warbled.  
'Remove that offending trinket from that boy's finger' he pointed then ignored everything else, even the boy's screams as the woman clasped his hand and began to chant, it would not be easy and the boy would be lucky to walk away with the finger, but it needed to go before they set this right. 'Weasley!' He barked.  
'Sir!'  
'Go and spell Potter's wards for him.'  
'Yes sir' and he ran from the room, pressing a hand to his wife's arm and his daughters head. Now that was taken care of, he just needed to focus all of his attention on this idiot, hopefully he could do a good enough job for the brat to his right, and for Madam Pomfrey whom he'd call once he was sure the idiot would at least live for the next few hours.  
'Vulnera Sanentur'  
'Vulnera Sanentur'  
'Vulnera Sanentur'  
'Uruz Ansuz teiwaz inguz dagaz othala' He drew runes with the blood that had seeped onto the floorboards below the chilled body, he kept his eyes on the task of writing the runes as he spoke them, sounding them out for good measure, 'ooaatngdo' he prayed this would work as he stared for a split second at the reddened skin of his burnt pointer finger.  
'Vulnera Sanentur'  
'Vulnera Sanentur'  
'Tergeo, Ferula' he whispered.  
'Nng' he groaned as he moved, hissing as he turned onto something that hurt like hell. 'Urg'  
'Easy there Mister Potter, you haven't healed properly yet, and in fact you have a lot of thanking to do for your life as it is right now, one would think.'  
He groaned further as he heard the voice and breathed out a breath that stayed on his face, flickering open emerald orbs, he flinched back from the face that hindered his sight of the ceiling. It retreated with its own flinch, and he heard a scrapping of a chair to his left.  
'Am I in the Infirmary?'  
'You are in your bed at home, I did not want to move you; you are healing nicely but it will take another month for it to fully heal and even then, there will be a nasty scar on your stomach; such silliness Mister Potter, you should know better.'  
He pulled himself into a lopsided upright position against his headboard, until someone with larger hands than the matron fixed the crooked angle and patted his shoulder tenderly; and it was tenderly. 'Pro—'  
'Severus or Snape, Potter.'  
'Right' he chuckled, groaning as it hurt.  
'Easy Mister Potter, what did I just say?'  
'…You said another month, what did you mean by that?' He turned his unfocused eyes toward her puttering form, she seemed to be tucking him in and rearranging potion vials on his bedside table, before a picture frame of himself, Luna and Aura—he stared at it, blinking rapidly, 'When did that—'  
'Mrs Zabini thought you might wish for the items to be back around the house.' It didn't sound like the man had thought the same thing.  
'Did you?' He asked.  
'I did not.'  
He nodded once, hands clenching in the sheets. 'Madam Pomfrey?'  
'Poppy dear, I think you've more than earned the right now.'  
He smiled awkwardly, 'Poppy, have I been in this bed for a month already?'  
'You have' she clarified, 'I need to go back to Hogwarts now, but I'm sure that Severus and your friends are more than capable of caring for you now, though I will be back in a few days to check on your progress; try to take a walk around every now and then, take it easy first though, yes?' She sounded reprimanding but he nodded, she knew him well.  
'I will unfortunately only be here for another few hours at most, then I must go back to Hogwarts myself; after all I do have the life of a Professor.' Harry nodded, 'of course, sir.'  
'Um, would you mind…' he stared at the door and then to the silver head in the chair to his left that was lowered to his knees.  
'Very well, do try not kill him, won't you?'  
'Warming to him are you?' He smirked, a spark in his eye.  
'Shut up.' He left the room with Harry snickering.  
'I'm sorry…'  
Harry's laughter broke off abruptly and he sat heavily back against his backrest. 'You were not taken from my home I see, have you atoned in my friends' eyes somehow? And to get Severus to stand up for you, must have done something exceptional.' He spoke at the wall across the room.  
'That woman, Madam Pomfrey, she said I practically saved your life after the Professor healed your initial wound. I don't think it's enough to atone for what I've done, especially not in your eyes, and I know the public doesn't know, but I feel like they're wondering where I was and what I was doing until now.'  
'I'm sorry?' His head turned slowly in the boy's direction, confused.  
He held out a rumpled newspaper, his hands shaking and revealing one scarred pointer finger, which drove Harry to be more confused; he took the paper and stared at it with his own shaking hands.  
Heir of Potter alive and back?  
Is it a miracle? Is it unreal? Or has this all been some elaborate hoax? Our one and only Saviour trying to get attention, and pretending that his family was slaughtered? Is Mrs Potter still alive as well, holed up in the Potter estate in Godric's Hollow?  
There is no mistaking that this is Harry Potter and Luna Potter nee` Lovegood's only child, Aura Osiris Potter, for what child could have that pale complexion, white hair and those emerald eyes that we associate so famously with the scar on his Father's forehead?  
This photograph though depicting the child's back, was captured by an everyday Diagon Alley-goer, and sent into us proclaiming he'd seen the "missing" son of Harry Potter, there is another photo of the "missing" Aura Potter, age Seven, with a bunch of other children and what appears to be Mrs Hermione Zabini nee` Granger and best friend Ronald Weasley and wife Gabrielle, heavy with twins heading into Madam Malkin's robes for all occasions on the 31st of July, on the front page of this article; Mister Potter himself appeared not to be with the crowd on his own Birthday, we wonder why this is?  
Harry threw the prophet at the opposing wall, beside the door. The boy jumped, head lowering back to his lap. 'I'm, I'm sorry…I shouldn't have…They asked…I..' Harry began to shake his head, exhaling heavily, 'You are free to go shopping Aura.'  
'Am I?' He asked, questioningly, as if he wasn't sure this was the truth.  
'You are, I am not…' He breathed again, closing his eyes. 'I am your Father, I am not a Death Eater telling you what to do and what not to do, I am not going to hurt you, regardless of how mad you make me or how disappointed I become with you; I have no right to discipline you anyway, I have not been your Father for well, six years…'  
'But you are still…'  
'Your Father, yes, but I am not your Dad.' He shook his head, heart heavy. 'I wish I understood how to discipline you for doing what you did, but I honestly don't have the slightest clue and you've saved my life, yes? So I suppose the best you will get from me is this for now, you will have to earn my trust with you, my respect, my love.'  
'Is that fair?'  
The head was lowered once more. 'Yes…Um, what do I call you?'  
'Whatever you wish I suppose, but I think it best if you pick from Harry, or sir, even Father but that is still stretching it now I think, for me.' There was a nod followed by, 'yes, sir' and the boy standing from the seat that had been placed there, he paused at the doorhandle.  
'I'm really sorry…Happy…Happy Birthday…'  
Though it appeared to be a bit late, Harry nodded, his eyes stinging and pressed himself back into the bed with a hiss of lasting pain as the door closed. This was going to be hell, he had his son back but he couldn't be that son yet, and he couldn't be that long lost Dad either and he desperately wanted that, his heart just wouldn't allow it yet.  
Finite


End file.
